On the Grounds of Brooklyn
by RedRogue
Summary: Everything Spot carries has a story of its own. They tell stories of harsh pain, loyal and unloyal friends, rising to power, and just maybe... even love. Life story of Spot. Runs pre, mid, and post movie. COMPLETE
1. Introduction

**Introduction:**

**-**

Respect was not something that came lightly. You had to earn it. It was a dog-eat-dog world. If you weren't tough, you were nothing. Especially when you battled the streets of New York in 1899.

Spot Conlon knew he wasn't much to look at, a short man, and not very intimidating, but his attitude would suggest otherwise. You insult his size, you would meet a certain fist hammered in your face. You insult his friends, you might find your life threatened.

His gray eyes would pierce through you like two silver knives. You couldn't lie to him. He would know. You couldn't cheat him. He would find out. Spot Conlon had ways of operating his life that was a mystery to all. One knew immediately, when they stepped into Brooklyn, they were in Spot Conlon's territory.

It was a place he loved. He had a name, status… Respect.

So why did he go?

Why did he choose to leave that place?

It is a question that cannot be answered with barely one brief sentence, but many. Have patience, and I believe you will grow to understand our renegade leader, and his final decisions.

-

**Please review.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	2. The Red Suspenders

Chapter 1 Concerning Item #1: _The Red Suspenders_

-

Love is a force longer than time, and stronger than will. Every story involves a woman. If it doesn't, it's not over yet.

Our story first begins with a particular woman. A mother. Her name was Mary Elizabeth Conlon. She bore one son, and one son only, now ten years old. She lived in a large house, most of the time all by herself, because her husband worked constantly. She was very wealthy, with maids attending to her every need during her uncomfortable time.

"Patrick, darling," she said with utmost patience. "You're father's on his way home, and you know he doesn't like to see you untidy."

Patrick looked himself over in the mirror, standing up straight, and puffing out his chest. He loved his own appearance, and though he longed for more height like his schoolyard friends, his mother would always promise that he would grow in time.

His clothes were perfectly arranged on him, and he relished in his own wealth. How clothes could give a kid so much more status than those orphan kids on the streets. When Patrick walked by, he was immediately respected by his exterior.

Whatever he wanted, he got. Except attention. Sure, he got attention from the other children, but they meant nothing. They followed him like ants in a line. As for his parents, they were the ones that he could not find love in.

So Patrick was a troublesome kid, without any heed to rules, especially those made by his heinous father of which he felt need to defy every day of his life. It was his only control. Patrick had no authority in his house, no control over his life. It was always 'go here', and 'do this', and he was expected to just go along with it with his head down and mouth shut.

But never was he taken that willingly. He would fight the command until his last breath. He fought for power, for a say in his schedule, but freedoms and liberties like that were not permitted. Patrick felt like a son that was there to make the family picture look whole; a space filler in the house. A model son. His father was all about politics, as a state senator. He could not fiddle with something as miniscule as a child, even his own son.

So through all his efforts, Patrick remained nothing but a thorn in his father's side, and all the more ignored.

As for his mother, she was a gentler soul, though always having a headache and usually couldn't deal with him either. Often when he didn't obey he was handed over to the maids for the paddle. But he would never yell or scream when he was struck. It was business as usual for him. Pain could be ignored, and it was over soon anyway, and he felt he only wasted energy by resisting. You would think the maids would learn this by now, but they only followed orders, he supposed.

Though the gray suit matched his eyes perfectly, Patrick felt the outfit needed something it had needed for a long time. Color. For some odd reason he wasn't allowed to wear any bold color. Father's rules. It was the only one he hadn't been able to break yet. He sneered at his reflection and ignored that particular entry on the to-do list for now.

"Mary, is that damn boy ready yet?"

"Almost, darling, please have patience."

His father was drunk before they even left. A slap across Patrick's mother's face was heard from the stairs. Patrick straightened his tie, and went to the stairs landing.

"Make sure he's ready. For every minute we're late it's coming off your hide."

It was the only reason Patrick stayed this long. For his mother.

"Leave her alone, pop," he said bravely.

His father's direction then would be immediately focused on Patrick, just the way he wanted. Patrick couldn't handle beatings any more than his mother, but he figured better himself than her. After the usual amount of hits and bleeding, Patrick was shoved into a car and sent on their way.

Dinner parties were all the same. You go in, stand by your father, eat a fancy meal, and basically be silent and look good. Just like everything else.

All the big shots were there: the mayor, the local newspaper chiefs, the judges and wardens.

"Aww, you poor boy," one of the wives said, dabbing at his bleeding with a napkin. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh, it's nothing," his mother would explain promptly. "He just had a little tumble down the stairs."

Patrick picked at his food, his interest not in eating. And it wasn't just because they were having escargot again. He was down in the dumps, and a girl was staring his way. He had smiled at her a few times, but she just stared, like he was some sort of god. He tried his luck at waving. She looked around herself as if to make sure he was waving at her, then lifted a hand to reply.

Patrick chuckled. Girls.

Then his father walked out to the podium for his usual speech.

"Friends and honored guests. I wish to thank you all for coming on this wonderful evening."

Patrick looked to the girl again, but something behind her now caught his eye. A man was parting his way through the crowd, one hand in his jacket pocket.

"At this momentous occasion, I am here to inform you that we are now becoming more prosperous a city than ever."

Patrick grabbed his spoon, and placed an empty snail shell in it. Holding the spoon in one hand, and bending it over with the other, he was ready to let the shell fly.

"I must thank my family, and the workers in this city who spend day and night so that I might speak these wonderful words in truth. We are thriving."

Patrick took aim, and flung the shell. It hit the man square in the eye. A loud noise sounded and smoke came out of a new hole in the man's pocket. People screamed and yelled and the police brought the man to the floor. Before Patrick knew what he had done, he was shoved back into the car. His mother grasped his head to her bosom, holding him tightly.

"Patrick, darling. My brave boy," she said. "You are too brave. You could have been killed."

Then his father stepped into the car too.

"What in hellfire was that?" his father demanded.

"Henry, dear, Patrick just saved your life."

"Shut up, woman!" the senator said, backhanding her across the cheek. "My life was at stake and here you are flinging things around! You can't gamble my breath like that you stupid blighter! Next time you fetch the police, stupid idiot."

Patrick frowned at his father. Maybe he should have let the man kill him.

"What did you say?" his father turned to him and spoke in a daring tone. Patrick shut his mouth. He didn't realize he had said that aloud. But a wave of courage blew over him, so he said it again.

"I SAID, MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE LET YOU BE SHOT!"

The driver looked in the rearview to see the show. Patrick shook in his anger. His fists were clenched and his breath was long and slow.

His mother face expressed shock and fear. The old man's brows met in the middle of his forehead, and his eyes narrowed.

"Is that so?" he said harshly.

"Henry, dear, please… don't…"

"You need another lesson in respect, boy."

The wood pounded underneath the wheels of the car as they drove over the bridge of Manhattan. Neither man moved.

Then as a lapse of sanity, the old man lunged, but the car door opened in front of him, and he found himself thrown from the car, right down into the water below.

-

Patrick couldn't face his mother, so he hid in his room for the next few days, letting the servants bring him food. He had saved and killed his father all in the same night. He had committed murder. And he wasn't sorry. His mother pounded on the door for him to come to the funeral.

"Please, Patrick, darling," she begged. "I can't do this alone."

So Patrick dressed, putting on black pants, and a black shirt, and looked to his drawer for one last thing.

He marched down to the burial sight proudly, as the people stared in wonder at his disrespect. For he wore black, but a pair of red suspenders stood boldly against the dark color. No one protested, just whispered amongst themselves at his audacity.

But as his mother came down the hill, Patrick became ashamed all on his own at what he had done. He couldn't face that woman, or what she could and would say. As she came down the hill in her funeral attire, Patrick shared one final glance with her, turned, and ran.


	3. The Gold Tipped Cane 1

**Chapter 2**

**Concerning Item #2: _The Gold-Tipped Cane_ 1**

**-**

"Patrick, darling!" she called after him, but her voice fell on deaf ears. She ran after him, but she stopped, for he was young, and she could never be able to catch him. Tears fell to her eyes, and sorrow overcame her, but her voice never weakened. He was gone, but she would do all in her power to get him back. He was her only child, and she loved him. Without him, she was alone. For though Patrick never knew, she was thankful.

"God save him," she said, as she watched him disappeared over the hill of the cemetery.

-

The street was dark and lonely. Patrick had a few coins in his pocket, but they wouldn't get him far. He was cold, and had nowhere to go. But he would sooner freeze to death or starve than go back to that house. The guilt was too much. He sat on the curb in Manhattan, and put his face in his hands. The gutter water ran over his feet, but he was too tired to care.

A man entered his life then, when Patrick was coldest and hungriest. He was an old man, who held a box under one arm, and with the other poked at Patrick with a gold-tipped cane.

"Youse alive?" he said.

Patrick looked up at the older man, about the age of his father, and squinted through the dark.

"Kid?" the man insisted on the boy answering.

"Leave me alone," Patrick said, pushing the man's cane away from his arm.

"Youse an orphan or a runaway?"

Patrick looked up at the man and didn't now what to say.

"Both," he said finally.

"Fine, then. Fine. Look at ya, all sitting in a lump, nottin' more than a spot on the cobblestone. Ya wanna help me with this here box, Spot? I'll give ya dinner if ya do."

Patrick frowned, but before he could answer the man dragged him to his feet and said;

"Of course ya do. Now come with me."

They walked a ways, the man giving Patrick the heavy box to carry. The old man directed him to a tall decaying building, one with still a warm feeling about it, with lights on the inside and music to be heard. The sign above told that it was a saloon.

"Home sweet home," the man said. "Come on in, kid."

He led him around the back, to inside a storage room, and let Patrick set the box down there.

"The name's Mr. Barrenger to you. Come on in the kitchen."

He led Patrick through to the next room, where people were busy at work serving drinks, playing piano, and getting drunk. But the old man didn't linger, just led him to a set of stairs, and up to the living floor of the bar.

A plump woman in an apron came immediately at the sound of the opening front door.

"Oh, my dear, I thought you had gotten lost in the dark. Talk of rain soon, oh! I was so worried."

She hugged him promptly and then noticed the young boy.

"And what's this? Picking up more strays, John?" she smirked at the old man.

"This is the misses," Mr. Barrenger explained. "Just promised him a hot meal, Lizzie, he ain't stayin'."

She bent down to Patrick's level.

"Well, ain't you the handsomest one! Like hell he thinks we're just going to through you back out on the street. He may be heartless, but I sure ain't!" She grabbed his hand decidedly and led him to the kitchen, still ranting on. "Look at you, all skin and bones! We'll have to get you plenty of jobs around here, build you up a bit! Definitely need more meat, you do. We'll get you on your feet, mark my words!"

She filled his plate with delicious things like pork and potatoes and cornbread. It wasn't like what he was used to eating, but it tasted wonderful.

"And look at you, with your torn dark clothes. It's a wonder that a stray carriage didn't hit you, blendin' in with the night like that! Wait just a moment and I'll fetch you some dry clothes."

"Looks like you're her new pet," Mr. Barrenger said with a smile. Patrick looked up at him with a full mouth and said:

"Suits me fine."

The old man laughed.

"I'll bet it does. When you're done here come on downstairs and I'll get you some more things to do. Ain't getting all this for free, mind you."

"What's this?" A redheaded kid came from the hall, scratching his head in wonder.

"Who's that?" he laughed at Spot's appearance. "Look at ya! Youse all hoity-toity and whatnot. Where ya from anyway?"

Patrick looked down at his clothes, well-tailored pants and neatly buttoned shirt and perfectly tied tie.

Patrick loosened the tie from around his neck and threw it to the floor.

"I'm not-- I mean, I _ain't_ hoity-toity or nottin'. These don't even belong t' me, so shove off."

The redhead smiled.

"I like him," he announced. "He can stay in my room. Name's Red, Mr. Fancypants. What's your name, kid?"

Patrick found it funny that he called him 'kid' when they appeared to be around the same age.

"Patrick Conlon."

"Well, come with me, I give ya the tour."

He led him around the small one room apartment happily.

"Red's a real original name, I know, with the hair, but it's just what they always call me, so I don't even remember what my real name was anymore. Prolly's already happened to youse, huh? What he call ya out on the street?"

Patrick thought for a moment.

"Spot."

"Well, welcome, Spot Conlon."

-

The clothes Mrs. Barrenger brought weren't exactly custom made, but Spot made them work best to suit him. That is, the white and gray plaid shirt was slightly too big, so he rolled up the sleeves and tucked in the bottom. And the brown pants were slightly too small, rising just above his ankles, but they were the only ones that fit somewhere around his tiny waist. He wore high-topped boots to make up for the gap at the bottom and they worked for him too. The only piece of clothing he kept was the red suspenders. The rest had sentimental value now because they came from the Barrengers, so even though Spot could afford new clothes, he never got rid of them. It also showed them that he was grateful.

Three years passed in the blink of an eye. Soon Spot forgot he ever had another father or mother, for the two old Barrengers replaced them so wonderfully. His form and good etiquette stayed with him always, but his accent slowly changed to fit in with the other New Yorkers by his own will. He worked at the bar day and night, sometimes drinking his way through shifts. Mr. Barrenger never cared.

Spot's muscles built up from all the lifting of boxes and scrubbing of floors. It wasn't an easy life, mind you, but it had comfort and security. He didn't grow much like everyone figured, just about an inch or so through the years, but Mr. Barrenger used to say that he made up for it by acting like he was seven feet tall. You had to in that part of Manhattan. People that came in the bar were tough, and you had to let them know you meant business.

The first time people figured not to mess with Spot, as he was now always introduced, was on a warm night in June. The place stank with sweat and beer, but Spot was far used to it by now. A group of teens came through the door. Large fellows, with chains dangling from their belts.

"Brooklynites," Mr. Barrenger explained. "In your right mind don't mess with _them_. They'll rip you apart, Spot. Just give 'em what they want and send them on their way."

Spot acted busy drying off glasses, but he kept one eye on the Brooklyn kids at all times.

"I wanna man the tables, Mr. Barrenger," he said at last.

"The poker tables? Naw, your too good, Spot, and with these fella's--"

"--I wanna man the tables, Mr. Barrenger," he insisted.

Mr. Barrenger frowned.

"Fine, off you go," Mr. Barrenger said, throwing his hands up in defeat and heading up the stairs to retire for the night.

So Spot threw his towel down and went over to relieve Red.

Spot loved this game, and his poker face was perfected through the years of playing, and he knew the cards like he knew breathing. A few of the Brooklynites lost with a few grumbles, but others stuck around feeding him more money. It was too easy, but he did his best to hold back in case he upset them too much.

Then more came through the door, and one of them dragged in a girl. She was dirty from head to toe, probably a stray like him. Her dress was tattered, and her dark hair in tangled locks.

But she was pretty anyway.

Spot didn't do anything to suggest this in his face, for again with his perfected blank expressions.

"Go siddown, Cat," one said to the girl. Probably short for Catherine, no doubt. The name suited her, Spot figured, with her big slanted brown eyes and brown hair. She definitely wasn't from around these parts.

The girl obeyed, sparing a single glance at Spot before dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Who's the girl?" Spot said absentmindedly to one of the poker players. The gruff Brooklynite smiled back.

"Why, ya like her?" he said. "If youse interested, I can give ya a good price for her."

"She's a whore?" Spot said in surprise.

The man winked.

"She was a flower girl about a few hours ago, but yeah, guess she is now. Found her on the street, and decided to take her in outta the goodness of my own heart."

The words made something boil inside Spot, knowing this. His mercy for the men ran thin. He stopped holding back his poker skills and began to slaughter the men mercilessly.

"Full house," Spot said, and began to scoot his chips over to his side of the table once more. But a large hand slapped on top of his, and Spot found himself eye to eye with a very large, very angry Brooklynite.

"Youse a dirty cheater!" one said, gripping his dangling chain, having finally had enough. "Youse give me back the money for that last hand, or I'll rip it from ya!"

Spot looked at the large man with narrow eyes, scanned the man down, then said in a daring tone:

"No."

"What did youse say?" another challenged.

"I said, you try it, you get soaked, here? Why doncha take your little drunk butts outta here."

"Youse got a lotta nerve there, little man."

"And you don't seem to got _any_. I haven't seen any of youse throwin' anythin' at me yet."

With that the men yelled in anger and came swinging. A single uppercut under one's chin put his lights out. Another took a few to the chest, before swinging the chain so that it wrapped around Spot's wrist. So Spot simply yanked it from his grasp, and hit him back with it. But the others began to realize the scuffle, and joined in. Soon Spot was outnumbered. He grabbed Mr. Barrenger's cane from by the counter, and swung it like a bat into several faces. Then they began to back off.

"Anyone want some more?! I got some right here!" Spot taunted them.

"What are you?" one wondered in amazement.

"He's got bricks in dose knuckles!" another announced, rubbing his jaw in pain.

Then one in the back, who hadn't got up from his chair the entire time, began to clap and laugh.

"Youse somethin' else, kid," he said. The room stopped moving when the man spoke, like the voice of a king had spoken. "Ya beat up my boys like they're a buncha pansies. Stop making us look bad, runt. What's your name, anyway, kid?"

Spot didn't answer him.

"Fine, den. I wouldn't trust me eidder. But you know, we could use a fist like you. Ya ever come to Brooklyn, look me up, huh? The name's Haze Dickens. Anybody who's anybody knows me in Brooklyn."

He got up from his chair, and snatched the gold-tipped cane from Spot's grasp.

"You come find me to get this back, alright? Let's get outta here, gents."

"Hey!" Spot said in protest, jumping from the table to the floor and starting to go after them. "HEY!"

"Brooklyn!" the man shouted over his shoulder as he walked into the street.

Spot spat on the porch to curse the ground they walked on. Stupid Brooklynites. He hoped he never saw them again.

"Thank you," said a small voice behind him. The girl.

"Ah, forget it," Spot said over his shoulder. "Woulda done it if you were here or not."

"No one's ever stood up for me like that before."

Spot strolled carelessly back over behind the counter in the all too silent room. Mr. Barrenger hand him a towel then left up the stairs for bed, instructing Spot to close up.

"No one, huh?" Spot said absentmindedly. "Not even your family?"

Spot turned the '_open_' sign around to '_closed_'.

"All my family's dead," she said silently.

Spot looked at her promptly, speechless.

"Sorry," he said, then went busy with scrubbing the counters, acting like she hadn't said anything too out of the ordinary.

"How did you learn to fight like that?" she asked in her sweet quiet tone. She played with the edge of her tattered dress sheepishly.

"Ain't too much different from fightin' Red. They just taller."

"You seem really brave," she said.

"So what if I am. I always knew that."

He threw the towel back on the counter, and paid the girl his full attention.

"They rough ya up?" he asked a little harshly. Most of the time he knew no other way to speak.

"Yes," she replied. "But I'm used to it. I get that a lot nowadays. I stand out around here."

"Why don't you find somewhere to go?"

She giggled.

"I've been looking for a long time."

Spot propped his elbow on the counter and rested his chin in his hand. He sighed and started toward the stairs.

"Come on. You can stay here tonight."

She perked up.

"Really?"

"I got a bed upstairs you could use. Red's there too, but he won't talk anythin' he can back up."

She looked at him with a broad smile.

"Thank you again, really."

"Please, shut up," Spot said, then led her to the stairs. "I ain't doing this for you."

Her smile fell.

"Then who are you doing this for?"

"Mr. Barrenger," Spot replied as they climbed the stairs together. "He picked up me off the street so now I'm payin' it forward. And he's always griping sayin' we need another bar hand. Come on, keep up."

"Got a new pet, Spot?" Red wondered when she came in the room.

"Shut up, Red. She's called Cat."

Spot went to work making his bed on the floor.

"Ah!" Red said, sitting up in his own cot. "So she _is_ a pet! Well, welcome, Cat. Pleasure."

She curtsied.

"Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Red."

"Whoa!" Red said, impressed, while tapping on Spot and pointing to her. "What's all this? Ya see this, Kid?"

"Yeah, I see fine, Red."

"She's prolly from your part a' town."

"Doubt it."

Red slouched in disappointment.

"No more pickin' fights, now, Spot," Mr. Barrenger blazed as he came into the room. "Hear? No more. Fights lead to no good."

"Yes, Mr. Barrenger," Spot replied.

"Who's this?" Mr. Barrenger asked, motioning to Cat.

"I just promised her a hot meal," Spot explained. "She ain't stayin'."

"Right," Mr. Barrenger said skeptically. "Where have I heard that before?"

She was the second memorable woman to enter Spot's life. If only he knew what was in store with her…

-

**Please review… Thanks!  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	4. The Gold Tipped Cane 2

**Chapter 3**

**Concerning Item #2: _The Gold-Tipped Cane_ 2 **_(continued)_

**-**

News spread about Spot, and his night with the Brooklynites. About a week later, some more boys came in to see if the story was true.

Cat was immediately cleaned up by Mrs. Barrenger, given a sponge bath and proper dresses. She looked even nicer clean, Spot decided. But she was still just a girl, a girl in which Spot had little romantic interest. They were all family to him.

Though Spot had promised that Cat only stay one night, like him, one night turned into two, and two turned into a week, and three months later, here she still was. Mrs. Barrenger seemed to like her best, always keeping her in the kitchen teaching her how to cook and clean.

But this particular night was a slow one, and the late hour made the place deserted. Spot was cleaning up so that he could close up shop, and Cat had taken to the floors to scrub. Red made himself useful by sweeping the storage room. Mr. Barrenger had already called it a night, like was usual around this time, and left the kids to do the routine close up.

Cat worked hard on that floor, scrubbing with so much vigor that it aroused Spot to say something.

"Don't scrub a hole in there, now."

She laughed and eased up a bit.

"You know what I wish?" she said dreamily.

"That we had a thousand dollars?" Spot offered.

"Besides that. I wish we had a piano in here. Then I could play for the customers all day, and you… at closing time."

When she said the last part her cheeks flushed red, and she quickly went back to scrubbing.

Spot smirked.

"You know how to play piano?"

"I could learn!" she insisted.

Then the bell above the door jingled. Two mean looking men entered. They were large fellows too, but that didn't matter to Spot.

"Can I help you, gents?" he said, greeting them as they came through the entryway.

"Yeah, uh, give me a beer, will ya? And another for my brother here."

As Spot poured the drinks the tall man stared at him. Cat looked up from scrubbing the floor to watch.

"You Spot?"

"No, we only except cash."

The man chuckled, along with his buddy.

"Funnyman," he observed. "We heard you roughed some Brooklyners around here a while ago."

"You hear correctly," Spot slammed down the beer glass just as he spitefully said the word: "_Sir_."

"Haze's boys, we even heard."

"And they had weapons," the other piped in.

"Can I get you anythin' else?" Spot insisted. The man smiled and shook his head no, so Spot went back to wiping the counter.

"Pretty girl," the first man, who seemed to be the talker of the two, said. "She your sister?"

"No."

"Girlfriend?"  
Cat perked up to see what Spot would say. Spot shot her a harsh look and said with a hinting tone:

"_No_."

"Then you got no claim on her then, huh?"

"Did ya happen to hear _why_ your friends from last week got roughed up? They put a hand on that same goil over there."

"What makes you think they was our friends?"

"He sent ya over here to spy on me. I ain't stupid."

"Could've fooled me."

Spot lunged just as Cat yelled:

"Spot, NO!"

But Spot was too busy throwing punches and receiving them. When she tried to get to him, she was only struck to the ground. It only made Spot angrier.

"Spot!" Cat cried, as another man came flying onto a table next to her, which only crumbled underneath his weight. "_Please_!"

She hit around the counter as glasses flew and crashed all around, and spotted Red come running from the storage room to join the fight. Spot hopped the counter and knelt next to her, as the commotion continued behind them.

"You alright?" he demanded.

"I'm fine. But they aren't from Brooklyn!"

"How do you know that?"

"I've seen those men on the street. They're the Delancey brothers. They work for a paper, the _World_, I think. They just go around causing trouble."

"Then trouble's what dey found!" he said, hopping the counter again and getting back into the fight.

"_Spot_!"

"We're gonna get you back for this!" the brother Oscar said as Spot and Red ran them out. "You're gonna get it, all of you! Especially that little girl!"

"Why don't you practice fighting your brother for a bit more before you come back here, eh?" Spot said cynically.

"You can't even beat little kids half your size, you dopes!" Red shouted as they ran off. He patted Spot and turned back into the bar.

"Com'on, let's get this place cleaned up."

-

Spot couldn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned, but something made him restless. The hard floor he laid upon wasn't helping either. He finally sat up, and decided to visit the bathroom. It's when he got out, when he heard it. A crash, then men laughing.

Without second thought, Spot grabbed his hat and ran downstairs. He saw the Delancy's just running out the smashed front door, and in the middle of the bar, a broken beer bottle in the middle of the floor, and out of the mouth a flaming white cloth. The fire ignited the beer spilled onto the hardwood floor, and threatened to do the same to pile of all the ale taken from the shelves, and a few more barrels thrown into the mound. Spot grabbed a cloth from the table, and sprayed it from the water faucet behind the counter, before beating the flames.

But in a matter of seconds the whole mound ignited. There was nothing left to be done.

Spot abandoned the tablecloth and raced up the stairs.

"Red! Mr. Barrenger! Cat! Com'on we have to get outta here!"

Mr. and Mrs. Barrenger came running out in their robes, just as the smoke began to rise into the second floor.

"The whole first floor is in flames!" Red announced. "We hafta take the fire escape!"

"Oh," Mrs. Barrenger said, fanning herself with her hand worriedly. "I hoped we'd never have to use that rickety thing."

"Spot, get Cat!" Mr. Barrenger commanded.

Spot ran into the room and to her bed. He tried to rouse her by shaking her gently and shouting, but she only groaned and flicked his hand away.

"Cat, ya dope!" he said harshly. "How can ya sleep through all me yellin'? Get up, ya lazy goil!"

"Huh?"

Spot scooted his hands underneath her and lifted, running back to the window where the fire escape was. Mrs. Barrenger was already on the ground, and Red was just starting down.

"One atta time, now!" Mr. Barrenger told Spot. "That escape is too old to hold ya! One atta time, hear? Wait for Red to get down! I'll be right back!"

So Spot impatiently waited with Cat still in his arms. The smoke rising up the stairs turned into flames, and Cat coughed through the smoke.

"Hurry up, you rat!" Spot called down to Red. Cat, now wide-awake, kept her eyes on Spot, her saving grace, while he kept his gaze to Red. Spot saw that Mr. Barrenger was right. The escape was giving way.

"Red!"

The stair he was climbing on crumbled under his foot, and the metal began to fold under him.

"Just jump, you bum!" Spot yelled. So Red closed his eyes and leaped.

"We can't go down that way," Spot decided. He looked down at Cat in his arms. "It's too much of a risk."

"What now?" Cat wondered. Spot looked around for some inspiration. To the left of the escape was a large clothesline, with many garments hanging down from them.

"Here, get down." Spot said, putting Cat down for a moment. He tested the line, which was hooked up to a pulley near the roof. It seemed sturdy enough.

"Hold on!"

Spot grabbed Cat around her waist, and took a deep breath.

"What? Spot, what do you think you're—AHHHHH!"

And he leapt. Cat screamed the whole way down.

It was only then Spot realized he had forgot Mr. Barrenger.

"Mr. Barrenger!" Spot called upward. He set Cat down on the ground and began to climb back up the fire escape.

"Spot, what are you doing?" Cat said, grabbing at him.

"Shut up, woman, I can't lose another father! Let go!"

"You can't!"

"I said, let _go_!" he said, prying her hand from him and continuing his ascent. Mrs. Barrenger held her fists up to her mouth and yelled.

"Be careful, deary!"

He didn't reply. He just set his sights on that window, and kept climbing. He was about halfway there, when he saw Mr. Barrenger. He heard his screams at first, then saw him. The old man ran to the window, engulfed in flames, shouting and waving his arms in pain.

"Mr. Barrenger!"

But as soon as Spot saw him, Mr. Barrenger fell beyond sight, and was gone.

"Oh, God!" Mrs. Barrenger called from the street. "Spot, get down! It's giving way!"

Spot looked down and saw the metal cave. He scrambled to get down, but it was going fast. When he made it to the second-to-the-last landing, it fell, taking him with it.

-

**Please review, I really want to know what you think… Thank you so much!  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	5. The Gray Hat 1

**Chapter 4**

**Concerning Item #3: _The Gray Hat 1_**

**-**

It didn't hurt too badly. Plenty of scrapes and bruises, but after the dust settled, and his breath was caught, Spot was actually able to stand with some effort. He stood with the others, staring at the building being consumed by flame. He looked at Mrs. Barrenger and Cat, bawling on one another, while Red comforted them. Spot frowned at his own cruel fate. He had lost another father, but this time, against his control.

-

"I'm sorry, dears," Mrs. Barrenger bawled when dawn finally came. "But this is where our life together ends. I'm afraid (_sniff_) you'll have to go on your own. I can barely afford my_self_ now, having no home and no (_sniff_) husband to support me."

"We understand, Mrs. Barrenger," Spot said, fearing more water works. "Don't worry about us. We all smart kids. We'll manage."

"Please," she said, pulling out her coin purse. "Accept some money here, and at least some bread for breakfast, there you are…"

Spot took one look at her money in his hand and shook his head.

"Naw, take it back," he said. "It's the least I can do, for all you done for me."

"Then do me one more favor," she said, leaning close. "Look after Cat. Red can make do, but I don't want to see that poor dear selling more than flowers again on the streets."

Spot frowned at Cat, but swore anyway.

"Yeah, sure thing."

She gave them each a hug and kiss, then they parted ways. Red said something about going to Midtown, and Mrs. Barrenger went to look for work on the harbor. Spot looked at Cat, and walked off.

"Well, come on!" he called over his shoulder.

"We're you going?" she said, jogging to catch up.

"Upper Manhattan," he replied. "We'll find us a home and go find woik as newspaper sellers."

"Newsies? But--"

"You like eatin'?"

"Well, yes…"

"And ya like sleepin' unner a roof and in a bed?"

"Of course, but--"

"Then ya have to trust me on this, it's our best bet."

"Well, you don't have to be so rude about it."

Spot stopped and faced her.

"I'm your only protection from going back to how I met you, ready to be some guy's whore soon as he was drunk enough. If ya don't want that, which I get the strong feelin' that ya don't, then I say I can do whatever the hell I want, sweetface."

She shut her mouth abruptly.

"You're a good man, Spot, saving me twice now and all… but you're really _mean_."

"So sue me."

"You know, I don't need you."

"Yeah, you do," he said decidedly. "You just a little girl."

-

They walked until the twilight came, then took a moment to buy food and rest.

"Sleep a bit," Spot said sitting down and leaning his back against the brick building wall. "I'll watch ya."

She responded by sitting next to him and making herself at home on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey," Spot said, shoving her off. "None a' that, com'on…"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, I just don't want ya gettin' all snuggles with me, I ain't your boyfriend. I'm just here until can drop ya somewhere on your feet, den we ain't never seein' each odder again, hear me?"

So she leaned away from him, laying in a ball on the ground.

Spot rolled his eyes at his own conscience. She never mentioned anything about wanting him to be her boyfriend. He didn't even know for sure that she even liked him like that. And here he was, assuming all these things that he didn't even know, snapping at her all over the place. Why did he jump to that conclusion so fast? Wasn't like he had romance on the brain…  
Well, now that he thought about it, as he looked at her laying on the ground… He put that thought aside. Such bad timing.

"Sorry," he said to her at length, trying to mend the uncomfortable situation. She looked up at him and blinked in surprise.

"It's okay. I can take a gentle hint."

"You don't need to take no hints," Spot said. "I didn't mean it."

"I'm upset about the fire too."

"Yeah." That sounded like a good excuse to him.

"Come here," he said motioning her back up. He patted his shoulder. "Go ahead, sleep."

She smiled, and obeyed.

-

He didn't realize he fell asleep too, until the sun blazed mercilessly on his face. He pried open his eyes an groaned at the rude awakening. He looked at Cat on his shoulder, then remembered where he was. She hadn't moved.

"Hey," he said, shaking her gently. "Time to go."

She hugged him closer like a stuffed bear.

"Just a little longer," she begged, still half asleep. Spot looked around in embarrassment, wondering if anyone was watching. They weren't.

"Come on, Cat," he said, pushing her away as gingerly as possible. "Look, you stay here. I'm going to go get us breakfast, alright?"

"Mmmm…" she replied. Spot frowned, not wanting to leave her by herself, but figured he was only going to be gone for a few moments.

He got up and went to a bakery around the corner. He could smell it from where they slept. He carefully scanned the breads for the perfect one for Cat and himself, and the best buy, and finally selected a small loaf for them to share. He even paid the man extra to top it with honey, just to make Cat's morning. He didn't know why he was trying so hard to please her, but he figured she was his only friend at the moment, so why the hell not?

With a broad smile he made his way back around the corner, eager to present breakfast to Cat.

But his smile vanished as soon as he stepped around the wall. He saw just soon enough to see the tail of Cat's dress enter a carriage, followed by a tall thin woman, closing the door after herself.

"We're doing you good," the old woman said as the door closed.

"CAT!" Spot called in fear.

He saw Cat poke her head out the carriage for just a moment.

"Spot!"

Spot dropped the bread to the ground, running at top speed to catch the carriage, but the horses were too fast.

"No!" Spot called. "She's with me! Stop the carriage! STOP!"

Spot slowed to a stop as the carriage turned the corner and out of sight. She was gone.

But not fully.

Spot saw something white flutter to the ground in the distance. A white clothe.

Spot jogged over, and picked it up tenderly. It was a handkerchief, probably torn from the woman in Cat's struggle, but it was his saving grace, probably tossed out the window just for him. It had initials on it in cursive, scrawly letters.

**A. G.**

It was all he needed. Spot gripped it in his hand determinedly. How stupid it was to just leave Cat all alone to be taken by just any old charitable fool. It was a mistake he swore never to make, but now he had. But he would do everything in his power to fix it.

So he set on down the way he figured the carriage had gone, following the tracks in the muddy road, but all too soon, they ended and he was left without a path.

So he resorted to asking around for people that recognized the name, but no one could think of some old skinny lady with those initials.

Nightfall came too soon, and he still was no closer to her. He was without direction, no place to even begin. Maybe the lady didn't even live in this city, or worse, country! The thought made Spot shudder, but he knew he had to listen to that inner voice. He had to let her go for now. Maybe these people wouldn't treat her so bad. Maybe she was better off.

Spot shook the thoughts away. He'd never know until he found her, and that was that. But he couldn't wander aimlessly, that was also truth. He was out of cash, and he couldn't keep sleeping in the streets.

Man, he reeked. He needed a nice hot bath to get this smoke smell away from him too.

So the next morning, he awoke early, and set out to find a lodging house. Under the direction of some lovely fruit salesladies, he found it in no time. Kids were just pouring from its doors, which had a sign above that said:

"**Newsboys Lodging House"**

Just what he was looking for.

He grabbed at the first kid that ran past, who wore a red bandanna around his neck and a black cowboy hat dangling down his neck.

"Hey, hey, Cowboy!" Spot said pulling him to a stop. "You got room in dat place?"

"Sure, I suppose. Youse a newsie, or what?"

"Yeah. What do I look like?"

"Whoa, ease up, hot shot. Youse don't gotta hat, it was an honest mistake."

Spot glanced at the others, and saw that all the boys running out of the building wore hats. So he grabbed a gray one off of a running boy and placed it on his own head.

"Hey!" the boy protested.

"I do now," Spot declared to the cowboy.

"Hey!" The boy still protested.

"Don't you have some papes to sell?" Spot said, nodding him away. "Beat it, ya dope."

The cowboy, who was a head taller than him, stepped up to Spot's face.

"Who you think youse are anyways? Stealing Snoddy's lid and what-not."

Spot glared right back, not afraid of this western style fool in the least.

"I thinks I'm a kid with a new home and a new hat, heah?"

Several newsies gathered around to watch.

"Be thankful it wasn't somethin' of mine in your sticky fingers," the Cowboy said in an angry voice. Spot put up his fists.

"And _you_ be thankful that these sticky fingers ain't knockin' your face in, Cowboy."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, threats are just words. I actually plan on goin' _through_ with it in about five seconds if you don't _get outta my face_!"

"Sure, I'll get outta your face," he said, backing up. Spot glared for a moment, then turned to go.

"_Runt_."

The single word made Spot stop in his tracks. Immediately his fury level was at maximum. Too far. He had gone too far.

Spot turned back around slowly.

And lunged.

"Who's bet!" someone in the crowd yelled.

"I want money on the new kid!"

Spot felt no pain when he was in a fight; he only caused it. All feeling disappeared, his anger rendering his senses numb. The cowboy was good, and they fought and fought at equal abilities.

Finally, they stood at either side of their imaginary ring, and paused for a moment to catch their breath. Spot's lip bled; he could taste it. He also saw that damage had been done to his opponent too. The blood from the cowboy's nose was pouring onto the cobblestone street. They stared at each other, both amazed at one another's fighting skill, since both fancied themselves unbeatable.

"Draw?" the cowboy said, wiping the back of his hand under his nostrils. Spot nodded.

"Sure."

The crowd around them groaned.

So the Cowboy walked over and put out his hand.

"Name's Jack Kelly."

Spot, as a last insult to this man for calling him runt, spit into his hand before shaking Cowboy's.

"Spot Conlon," Spot said with an antagonizing grin. The Cowboy only grinned back.

"Com'on, Jack," a kid in a plaid vest and plaid pants said through the cigar in his mouth. "Let's go get some papes while they still sellin' 'em, eh?"

"Sure, Race."

Jack put his arm around Spot, and they walked to the distribution office together.

"So how'd you loin to fight like that, huh?" Jack said as they passed through the gates. Spot laughed.

"It's all talent, Cowboy," Spot said, straightening his new gray hat.

-

Spot waited in line like the rest of the newsboys, waiting for his turn to get his papers. This place was sure slow, and the boys around lingered to read the paper for useful headlines, only making the line slower. Spot grew impatient, but tried his best to keep it to himself.

That when he saw them. The Delancey brothers.

They were walking all smug and casual-like in their little suits, not a care in the world. They probably didn't even remember burning down the bar that night. Or killing Mr. Barrenger. Spot hesitated for a moment, then decided it was worth losing his place in line if it meant getting a punch or two in with those fellows.

"And you, you go in back, you lousy little shrimp."

Oscar was pointing at Spot. It was the last straw.

Spot took them by surprise, flying from the landing and tackling Morris completely to the ground.

"Spot! What're ya doin'?" he heard someone yell. Sounded like Racetrack, maybe.

"You dirty rat!" Spot yelled, hitting him again and again, not even realizing that there were two. Oscar grabbed at Spot and punched him once, before Jack joined in and socked Oscar square in the nose.

Weasel, the office man, yelled and screamed, trying to get them to stop, but that was all it took, then hell broke loose between the Delancey's and several more of the newsboys. The brothers were outnumbered, and it was all they could do to get inside the distribution office without being killed.

When the dust settled, Jack pulled Spot aside, handing Race their money to buy their papes for them.

"They'll think twice before sending the little ones in back, huh?" Racetrack laughed.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Especially this here Spot. He ain't good for their health."

With that Jack focused his attention on Spot.

"What was that 'bout, huh?"

"I don't need to answer you, Cowboy," Spot snarled. "It's personal, and it's none of your business. But consider those men dead meat."

"Already do, but sure," Jack replied.

**-**

**Please review, if you have a moment.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	6. The Slingshot

Chapter 5 

**Concerning Item #4: _The Slingshot_**

-

"You already know Racetrack," Jack said that evening, when they all reassembled in the Lodging House after a long day selling. "He'll hook youse up with all yo' gamblin' needs."

Spot slapped Race on the back as hello.

"And this here's Kid Blink. He'll hook you up with a good pack o' cigs if youse so feel the need."

Spot shook the hand of a kid in an eye patch, who seemed a little wary of Spot after his tussle with Jack that morning. In fact, a lot of the kids looked that way, he noticed. It pleased him greatly.

"So where're youse from?" Racetrack asked him.

"Nowhere," Spot replied quickly, dreading the fact of being called 'hoity-toity' like Red had when they first met all those years ago. Man, he missed Red already.

It was then he remembered where he was from. Upper class. How far he had fallen. But somehow, he felt higher than he had ever been.

Then he remembered Mr. Barrenger. And then he remembered Mr. Barrenger's gold-tipped cane. And he remembered he had to get it back.

After a few days of poor selling, Spot left the Manhattan newsies, promising them that it was only temporary.

"I got some things that need me direct attention," he explained. "Then I'll be back."

With the few coins he had in his pocket, he set off for Brooklyn. Jack led him as far as the bridge.

"Wow," Spot said.

"The bridge?"

"All of it," Spot replied. "You tellin' me that heaven over there is Brooklyn?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm tellin' youse."

Spot's eyes narrowed.

"I want it."

"What?"

Spot smiled at Jack and changed the subject.

"Hey, do me a favor while I'm gone."

Spot pulled out the handkerchief.

"Figure out who this belongs to for me, alright?"

"Youse mean, try and find the old skinny broad that took your friend?"

Spot snickered.

"Yeah."

"Will do, den."

Jack spit in his hand and held it out, something that was quickly becoming custom between the two for deal making. Spot responded by spitting into his own hand and gripping Jack's palm firmly.

"See ya soon, Jack," Spot said, tipping his hat to him and continuing on his way down the Brooklyn bridge.

"Yeah, I certainly hope so, Spot."

"An' what's that supposed to mean?" Spot said as he walked backwards down the bridge.

"It means don't get yourself killed, that's what it means!"

"You just wait, Jack Kelly. One day, I'm gonna rule this town!"

"Yeah, right."

"All hail Spot!" Spot called as he went out of earshot. "King of Brooklyn! God of Newsies!"

"Keep dreamin', Spot."

-

"I'm lookin' for a man named Haze," Spot said to a group of newsies in Brooklyn. "Ya ever heard of him?"

"He lives on the harbor, little man," one replied. "What's your business with him?"

"I'm here to overthrow him."

The boys starting laughing.

"Youse and what army?"

Spot thought for a moment.

"Well, all a' you people, to start."

They laughed some more.

"What's makes you think that?" another had to ask.

"Because I'm gonna make you a bet," Spot said without a shred of fear. "You give your biggest, scariest fighter you got among youse… and I'll soak him. If I do, you come work for me. If not, I work for you."

Still chuckling, the men discussed it amongst themselves for a moment.

"And I suppose youse need us to help youse overthrow Haze?"

Spot nodded with a smile.

"That's right."

They went back in a huddle, before they finally nodded and came back to Spot with broad smiles.

"Alright, you're on. Bruno!"

A giant of a fellow came stomping out of the pier shed.

"Go beat him."

Bruno rubbed his hands together excitedly, and stepped toward Spot. He had to be at least three times the size of him, fat on every side of his body.

"Come'on, big guy," Spot said, motioning him over. "Let's get this ovah with."

Spot back up a bit, deeper and deeper onto the pier. He hopped a bit to loosen up, wondering how he was going to do this. But yes, he had a plan.

Then Bruno charged. He ran at Spot with full speed, promising to plow him to the ground.

But Spot simply stepped aside and put his foot out.

Bruno yelled all the way down into the water.

"But--!" the first newsie complained. "But--!"

"I soaked him, didn't I?" Spot looked down into the water, where Bruno was struggling to swim. "Yup, he looks pretty soaked to me."

The others exchanged glances, and were at a loss for words.

-

Spot's new workers told him where Haze could be found, and Spot moved on to speak to him directly.

"Haze?" Spot said, walking to the alleyway where the man himself stood with many newsboys. Spot looked immediately to the gold-tipped cane he held in his hand.

"Well, lookie here, boys!" Haze said, quickly recognizing Spot. "It's the little tough guy from the saloon! Heard your little home burned down, Small Fry."

Spot gritted his teeth.

"I'm here to thank you for that proper," Spot growled.

"Oh, no need," Haze said with a smile. "These boys here don't wanna waste their energy on beatin' you blind. Just join me little group heah, and we don't hafta hurt you. It's like I said, you're good, and we can use a fist like yours."

Spot narrowed his eyes, and stood perfectly still, not responding with anything other than an icy glare.

"I'd rather be beat blind."

Haze glared back.

"That can be arranged."

Haze snapped his fingers, and his boys moved in. Spot knew even he couldn't take them all, and right now he was due for a stiff pounding, but he meant it when he said it was what he would rather.

Spot's heart pounded through his left peck, protesting to the imminent pain to ensue. But Spot's mind harbored no fears. He supposed he knew this was coming.

So Spot just stood there, fists cocked, and waited for the first blow. The first one was always toughest.

-

Spot dragged himself back to a lodging house near the Bridge, wishing dearly for that cane now. It was late at night, so the streets were deserted, with not a soul around to help him. His eyelid was bleeding so bad he could barely see, and his legs felt ready to cave under him at any given moment. All the fingers in his left hand were broken, so he used his right hand to feel his way around the brick buildings.

Then he decided to give up on finding the lodging house, and just collapsed on the pavement on the dark streets of Brooklyn.

-

For many weeks after, Spot sold newspapers and fervently planned his conquest of Haze's gang. The boys grew to like Spot fast, since they had long been without direction or leader, and refused to be lead by Haze's tyranny. And Spot grew to like the boys in return, feeling a sense of control and, dare he say it, _security_ among them. A new family was formed.

Spot learned things about Haze too, with the help of Spots 'own men doing some crafty spying.

Haze Dickens was lazy. He hadn't sold a pape in years, only had people to do it for him. He ruled by only spreading rumors and fear, but Spot felt certain none of that could be backed up. He was like Red that way.

The fact of it all was, Spot thought Haze was a lousy leader, a disgrace to this town, and felt that if you wanted something done right you needed to do it yourself. So Spot wanted to lead, to do it how he felt it should be done.

"We gonna need more than us," Spot decided, discussing more plans with one of his good friends, Woodsy.

"We gonna need some things long range, to give a good amount of distraction while da odders move in."

"I can manage that," Woodsy's favorite thing to say. "Say, we need about a couple dozen slingshots?"

"Ya mean, like that little toy ya always carry around?"

"Little toys that give you welts and bruises the size of a grapefruit, my friend."

"That big?"

"Damn right. Try it. We'll probably have to take time to work on aim, but…"

"Give me one."

"Here," Woodsy said, handing him one from his pocket. "It's me best one."

Spot held it in his hand loosely, examining it. Woodsy handed him a marble.

"Give it a go," he pressed.

Spot looked around for something to aim at. He spotted one of his boys was drinking a beer. Spot pulled back, aimed, and let it fly. He had _de ja vu_ for a moment, as the marble flew through the air. He had done this once before…

The crashing of the bottle woke him up from his trance.

"Wow!" Woodsy said, standing up. "That's gotta be at least thirty yards! And on your first try-- How'd ya do that?"

"Good aim," Spot replied, tucking the slingshot in his belt. Maybe he'd keep the toy around for good measure.

"I'll say!" Woodsy replied, taking a big puff of his cigarette.

**-**

**Reviews are nice.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	7. The Gold Tipped Cane 3

Chapter 6 

**Concerning Item #2: _The Gold-Tipped Cane_ 3 **_(continued)_

**-**

"They have about ten around Haze all the time," Spot said to Woodsy, as they hung out on a roof over Haze's new hideout. "So we're gonna hafta make sure the range shooters cover me while I move in on Haze, hear?"

They had a little more spying, and just a little more research to do before they struck.

An auburn haired girl entered then, wearing nice looking clothes of sky blue.

"Who's that?" Spot asked Woodsy.

"Who, the girl?" Woodsy replied. "That's Haze's latest lady, Abigail."

Spot smiled.

"Yeah, I want that too," Spot said decidedly, and headed for the door to the stairs down.

"You want Haze's girl? Youse really suicidal, ya know that, Spot?" Woodsy complained as he followed.

"He'll never know, Woods," Spot replied happily. A new challenge. Something else to set him on danger's dinner table. He liked that. Made the girl even more attractive.

"Youse want a little company?" Woodsy insisted on changing his mind. "I got plenty a' girls who'd be interested. Youse don't need her."

"You're right, Woods," Spot said agreeably. "I don't need her. I ain't half bad to look at."

"--Not bad at all!" Woodsy agreed.

"There are _plenty_ a' women who'd gladly fall at me feet."

"--Of course!"

"But I want _that_ one."

"--Sure! Wait, no… No!"

Spot chuckled at his own cleverness.

"Don't wait up for me tonight, Woods."

"Spot! Youse do this, youse a dead man!"

"Then I'll die a _happy_ man!"

Because what Spot wanted, he got.

**-**

Spot stood in the dark streets, illuminated under a street lamp like he was in a spotlight. He was leaning against a side wall just outside of a local bar. He had been waiting for about five minutes now, but he wasn't in a hurry. Patience was everything in the new game he played. His timing was planned and flawless.

She came out exactly on schedule. She always left before the others, at this very moment, when they were drunk enough not to miss her. She wore red today, like she was dressed for theatre. God, she looked good and she knew it.

"Heya, sweetface," Spot said gently, as to not startle her any more than he couldn't avoid. He took off his hat in respect. She looked him over quickly.

"What do youse want, kid?"

"How about _you_ makin' a man outta me?"

"Smooth, very smooth, short stuff."

She scanned him down again, this time slower, and more obvious.

"What's your name?"

"Well, it's Spot Conlon, but maybe we can work on a new name latah', huh?"

Abigail smiled.

"If only it were that easy," she replied. "Do you know who I _am_?"

"Sure I do. Yer Haze's girl."

"And you're still going after me?"

"I'm goin' after everyone workin' with Haze. See, way I figure, you affiliated with him, you need go down. Your gonna need to be… ahem… _conquered_ just like the rest of 'em. Who knows, maybe ya be one a' the strong ones that need to be conquered, two, even three times, maybe."

"That right? Go on…"

"But at the moment you're lookin' like a lady who's feelin' a little ignored. What better way to get attention than demanding it, huh? Or we can keep this between us only, if ya like. I leave that choice up to you."

"Youse got guts, kid, I'll hand ya that.

"I ain't afraid a' nobody."

Spot winced, as if he said something wrong.

"Oh, but there is a little problem I didn't mention."

She took his bait.

"What's that?"

"I've had girls say… what was it? They had a little rhyme… oh yeah--" Spot looked directly into the woman's eyes. "--Once they went Spot, they never forgot. That'll have to be _your_ problem."

She smiled broadly at him, a flicker of mischief coming to her eyes.

"I'll make a note of it."

-

It only took one day, and Haze came looking for _him_ for a change. War was upon Spot and his crew. He had crossed enemy lines, stolen their territory…

Spot smiled at the woman sleeping beside him. She hadn't gone home since that night.

…And the spoils were sweet.

-

"Today's the day, boys!" Spot said to the men he had gathered through the weeks. Spot stood high on his box, just outside Haze's usual assembling place by the docks. "We gonna get 'em?"

"Yeah!"

"We gonna soak 'em?"

"Yeah!"

"Are we gonna take Brooklyn as our own!"

"YEAH!"

"What are we takin'?"

"BROOKLYN!"

"_What_ are we takin'!"

"BROOKLYN!"

An eruption of cheers arose from his small band of fifty or so. But they were a skilled fifty. They were a loyal fifty. And they were about to become more than fifty today.

Spot marched as a general into battle. The strategy was perfect. His spies had done good work for him. Today he was going to start a war… and come out a king.

-

Spot pulled back the slingshot for Haze Dickens's head.

"The cane, Haze," he demanded. "You've been a tyrant around these parts, I've heard. It's time for a new ruler of Brooklyn. Now hand me over that scepter."

"BROOKLYN!" his men shouted all around, calling war cries and doing victory dances. Haze was already beat.

"Ya told me to come find ya if I wanted the stick back," Spot said with a smirk. "And so I have. So it's time for youse to give it over."

"Youse amaze me, little man," Haze said. "How's a runt like youse, manage all a' this?"

Haze looked around in wonder.

"I guess some people are born to conquer, and some to _be_ conquered. Hand over the cane, Dickens."

"Over my dead body," Haze said, kicking Spot in the shin as hard as he could… which was very hard indeed.

"Over your dead body?" Spot grunted in pain. "Alright… if that's what you want…" Spot stood up and ignored the pain, recovering quickly when Haze tried to run.

"Come back here!" Spot yelled, chasing him across the piers. The fog made it hard to see, but Spot just followed the pier on.

It was then he realized where Haze was heading. He was going to the bridge. He heard Woodsy chasing behind him, along with many other steps from the rest of his gang.

Spot had stamina, built up from who knows where, but he was gaining on Haze.

Near the middle of the bridge, he caught Haze's shirt, and dragged him to the ground.

Spot grasped Haze's collar in his hand, and cocked his fist.

"No!" Haze said. "Don't hit me!"

Spot grabbed the cane from Haze grip, and stood up.

"You've been dethroned, ya lazy hotshot. Get outta here."

Haze nodded in fear, so Spot decided his work here was done. He turned back to his men.

"Let's go, fella's. I think we--"

Spot turned and grabbed Haze's fist in midair, catching it before it connected with Spot's head. Haze's eyes bugged in surprise at Spot's reflexes.

"What do ya think you're still doin'?" Spot said, crushing Haze's fist in his grip as Haze whimpered in pain. "You've been beat, idiot. Doncha have enough sense to know that?"

With Haze's free hand, he swung. Spot hadn't seen it coming like he had with the first, and it connected with his temple hard. So hard it knocked him to the ground.

Then Haze proceeded to kick him while he was down. After the third or so time, Spot grabbed his boot and lifted, making him trip.

Then they both stood with clenched fists, ready to face off.

"Heard youse lost that girl youse saved from us," Haze taunted. "Never found her, did ya?"

Spot's heart stopped.

"Where is she?" Spot demanded as they began to circle.

"Like I _know_, stupid," he replied. "There's plenty a' girls around here to keep me company, so I don't needs to be goin' after the enemy's little tootsie."

"Which is more than I could say for myself…" Spot replied with a fake-apologetic look.

"Abigail's makes a pretty warm bedmate though, if you catch my drift…"

Haze's face fell to rage, which was priceless. But he fought back even harder.

"Then that makes us even then…" Haze said evilly, complete with a harsh glare.

Spot took a moment to realize what Haze was trying to say, and his own expression fell to equal fury once he figured it out. The little piece of _slime_…

In his anger, Spot ran to him suddenly, grabbing his shirt and pulling him close to his face.

"Where is she?"

"I ain't tellin' youse, ya little runt."

Spot yelled in anger, scaring his boys, and charged at Haze. Haze grabbed him easily and kneed him in the stomach. Spot's friend winced in sympathy for him.

Okay, so maybe Haze wasn't as lazy and defenseless as Spot had first thought.

So he tried again.

But this time, he tried going left. Haze was ready for that too. He grabbed Spot's arm and flung his fist for Spot's head again. But Spot ducked under him just in time, and grabbed Haze's calf with his foot and made them both fall to the ground.

Before Haze could recover, Spot had him flipped on his back, and twisted Haze's arm as far as he could put it. Haze howled in pain, and tried hard to duck out of it, but Spot had a firm grip. Spot dragged him over to the bridge's edge, and leaned Haze over just enough to look down at the distant water below.

"Where _IS _she!"

"Don't kill me, hey! I ain't never done anythin' to youse!"

"_Where_!"

"Just let me up, I'm beggin' ya!"

"Spot!" Woodsy called as the others caught up to see the end of the fight. "What're ya doin'?"

Spot responded by leaning Haze farther out.

"Answer me!" Spot demanded.

"I don't know, I swear! I just found her one day when she was walking somewhere…"

"Then what rich lady in Manhattan has the initials '_A.G._'?"

Haze looked over his shoulder, and gulped.

"Alright… there's a rich broad in Manhattan, a lady named Agnes Gray."

"Who is she?" Spot demanded more information. A place. He needed a place.

"They say she takes in abandoned goils and smartens them up and stuff. Gives 'em nice clothes and things, treats them real nice then marries 'em off."

Spot took this all in for a moment. His heart lurched with a new hope. Cat was fine. She was being taken care of. Probably better off then she ever would have been with him. It was a comforting thought.

"Where is this place?"

"In Manhattan. Near the _World_ distribution office. That's all I knows, I swear!"

"You go outta Brooklyn," Spot commanded him in a low growl. "I ain't never wanna see your ugly face around these parts again, hear?"

He just howled in pain, and Spot heard something snap in his arm. He had broken it. In an effort to relieve some of the pain, Haze tried to duck out of Spot's hold, and succeeded.

But he didn't realize Spot was the only thing holding him up.

Spot watch the old King fall into the water. The second man Spot had thrown off a bridge. The other Newsies watched in awe as Haze Dickens hit the water, but Spot didn't stick around to watch.

He had to find an old lady to find. And this time, he knew her name.

-

"And then he told me," Jack went on. "'Jack, I'm gonna rule this here town."

The others laughed.

"What's he gonna do," Kid Blink chuckled with them. "Just grab a few hands and storm the kings castle?"

"Heya, Haze," Racetrack chimed in. "Howzit floatin'? By the way, can I have Brooklyn, please?"

Another burst of laughter.

"Heya Jack," Crutchy said, hobbling on over to Jack as fast as he could. "Did ya get a load a' page three?"

"What about it?" Jack wondered, then flipped his own paper he had just bought to the page Crutchy had directed.

"**Body Found On Brooklyn Harbor"**

"What in the world?" Jack said in disbelief, leaning in with interest.

_Yesterday local fisherman recovered the body of a young boy off of the Brooklyn harbor, believed to be a casualty of a riot incited on the Brooklyn Bridge the day before. The body was identified to be Harry "Haze" Dickens, a leader of many local street gangs in the Brooklyn area…_

"Looks like the twerp made a name for himself," Jack commented. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Yeah," Mush said with a shudder. "Glad that kid didn't pick a fight with me. Your nose still hurt, Jack?"

"Shut up," Jack snapped.

"Holy new king a' Brooklyn," Racetrack muttered, reading the article in his own paper.

After he spoke those words, all the newsies around took off their hats and placed them on their hearts.

"Long live the king," they said together.

-

**Please review… Anything you have to say is appreciated. Thanks!  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	8. The Key Around His Neck 1

**Chapter 7 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck**

**-**

"Let's go pay him a visit, shall we? Blink, Race, youse come with me."

"Well," Race muttered. "I dunno, Jack… I gotta hit the track an' all…"

"Yeah," Blink piped in. "Spot's a known moiderer now."

"Youse all afraid a' this little guy?" Jack pointed to the picture of the Brooklyn Bridge in the paper.

"Youse saw him, Jack. He took on the Delancey's all by hisself."

Jack was about to say that he did too, but then he realized that usually when he came in a scuffle with the brothers he found himself running.

"Fine," Jack said decidedly. "I'll go myself. I got me some backbone, ya know? See ya lata', ladies.""

"Naw, I'll come," Racetrack said, giving in. "I ain't afraid a' him."

"Anyone else?"

"Hey!" Blink said. "I'm ain't afraid a' him, or his new little friends eidda'! I'm goin' too."

"Hey, me too!" Boots said.

"Count me in!" Mush said, hopping in the circle too.

Soon all of them went up to Jack's challenge, and made their way to the Bridge.

-

Spot sat in his chair on the docks, outside of the small boat that Haze had called his home. It was Spot's now. At night he could drift out into the bay if he wanted, or if he feared a death threat. Mr. Haze hadn't been so stupid after all. He definitely knew how to watch his own back.

The boy they dragged up was small, smaller than Spot even, but put up a hell of a struggle.

"We found him, Spot," One of his boys, named Frenzy, said.

"Ya called Doodles, kid?" Spot said.

The kid responded by spitting the ground.

"Ya bum! I'll soak ya! I'll soak all o' youse!"

Spot smirked and examined the gold tip of his cane with great interest.

"Ya do realize," Spot said coolly. "That ya been doin' a lotta spyin' on us lately, eh? Not takin' your new leader too seriously, eh?"

"Ya stupid rat!"

"And ya do realize that youse been playin' both sides a' the fence, eh?"

"Ya stupid piece a'--"

"And do ya further realize, that Wheezer and Spinly just got knocked off cuz of youse being a little snitch?"

"I ain't done nothin' that weren't comin' to 'em for a long time."

"An eye for an eye, Doodles," Spot said. "Take him, fellahs."

"NO!" Doodles yelled. "I didn't do nottin'! _NO_!"

"Hey, Spot!"

"_NO, please_!" Doodles yelled outside.

"Yeah, Woodsy, what?"

"A Jack Kelly is here to see ya! Says he knows ya?"

"_I ain't goin', I AIN'T!_"

"Sure, I do! Cowboy!" Spot got up and hooked his cane in his belt loop. "Hold on, I'm goin' out to see him."

-

"Hey there, Spot." Jack said, extended his spit-on hand to Spot. Spot spit in his own and shook it in return.

"Heya, Jackie-boy, how's it rollin'?"

"Nice cane," Race commented in fear.

"Ah, this old thing?" Spot said, looking at it fondly. "Yeah, I'm kinda attached to it."

Spot motioned for Jack to walk with him, and the others trailed behind.

"So how's business?" Jack said as they all walked along another pier.

"Good profits for me lately," Spot admitted. "You?"

"Yeah, us too."

Boots watched as several boys beat the hell out of a little boy, then dragged him behind a crate and wiped their hands clean of him.

"Mush, did ya see--?"

"Keep movin', Boots," Blink herded him on. "Act like youse didn't see anythin'. Just keep walkin'."

"Good headlines lately," Spot went on. "I'm guessin' that's why ya all heah. To see if it's true, am I right?"

"We kinda figured it was truth before we even got heah, Spot," Jack replied.

"I told ya I'd rule this town, didn't I, Cowboy?"

"Yeah, ya did tell me that. I had a good mind not to believe it eiddah'."

"Yeah, _swell_ mind, Jackie-boy. Ya lookin' for a place for a while? I gotta warn ya, me boys _are_ a bit rough, but I figure youse can handle 'em."

"Naw, we's headin' back today. Got papes to sell, ya know?"

"Den ya heah to ask me somethin', ain't ya?"

Jack nodded.

"You're heah," Spot went on. "To make sure me new boys don't rough up yours."

"Yeah, as a matta' a' fact," Jack said, putting his hands in his pockets, and staring at Spot without fear.

"I ain't Dickens," Spot said. "I ain't in the habit a' just sendin' boys out to beat up on odder boys for a good time. I gotta have a reason. Take today for example. Doodles ovah there, got one a' me boys drowned in the East Rivah. 'Bout a week latah', he got another beat to death in an alleyway. Made up lies, see. I got me own wars to be worryin' 'bout. I don't need to go makin' more in yer part a' town. That's _yer_ job, Cowboy."

Jack grinned, then nodded.

"Good seein' youse, Spot."

"Don't be a stranger, eh?"

"Nevah."

So they nodded to one another in agreement, and Spot began to head back.

"Oh, and Spot!" Jack called.

"What?" He said, turning back to face him.

"I'm still woikin' on that goil a' yours. Got a new lead, so I'll prolly get back 'round these parts soon."

"I'll be expectin' ya, then."

"Man, he's got creeps runnin' up and down my spine," Boots said when they caught up to Jack. The others looked at Boots funny when he said this.

"Well," Boots recovered. "But it ain't like I'm scared or nottin'."

"Not in the least," Jack said sarcastically. "Let's get back, fellahs."

-

"The name of the game is _volume_, Dave," Jack said, about three weeks later. "You only took twenty papes. Why?"

"Bad headline," David replied promptly.

"K, that's the foist thing ya gotta loin. Headlines don't sell papes. _Newsies_ sell papes.

"Yeah! Newsies!" the others agreed.

"You know," Jack went on. "We're what holds this town together. Without newsies, nobody knows nottin'."

"Yeah!" the rest agreed again. At that moment, a beautiful girl walked by, carrying a few books. She wore a black dress and straw hat over her gentle brown curls. As she passed, all manner of previous conversation stopped.

"Whoa, look at that angel!"

"I'm in Heaven!"

They all stared at her, she realized, so she quickened her pace before they could see her flushing cheeks and flattered smile.

"BABY BORN WIT' THREE HEADSES!" Specs yelled first, then the rest followed suit. Except Jack. He started to sell like the others, but stopped.

"Hey Dave, hold on for a sec, I'll catch up with youse."

"What?" David said in surprise. "Where're you—Jack?"

But he already disappeared in the crowd.

-

"Hey, uh, could I help youse with dose books there, ma'am?" Jack said to the girl.

"Oh, thank you, but I'm not going far," she replied nervously, keeping her quick pace.

"Hey, well, I'll just carry 'em a short ways, then. Least I can do for gracin' our eyes with yo' pretty face."

She blushed and looked down at her feet as she walked.

"You say that to every girl you meet?"

"Can youse believe I just made that up now? Com'on, not bad for the old wit, eh?"

She smiled sheepishly.

"Not bad at all," she finally stopped.

"Whatsa mattah'?" Jack said, stopping too.

"This is my building," she explained, motioning to the small flight of cement stairs leading to a tall red door. "I told you it wasn't far."

"Oh, I see. Well, um… Where I woik, it's just around the corner there. I'll see youse again tomorrow, huh?"

She didn't seem thrilled with the idea.

"Well, I guess…"

"Youse don't want me to?" Jack said, leaning on the stair rail in concern.

"I don't know you," she replied honestly.

"That's why I'm gonna see youse again. We gonna fix that. Wait for me tomorrah'. Right heah, on these heah steps. I'll come visit ya."

She thought for a moment, glanced at the floor, then at him again, and said softly:

"Okay."

"Great," Jack said with a smile. "Ya think I can get yer name?"

"It's Catherine," she said. "But everyone calls me Cat."

Jack cocked his head. Why did that name ring a bell?

-

**Enjoy that? Tell me!  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	9. The Key Around His Neck 2

_**Note to readers: Every chapter from here on out deals with item #5, The Key Around His Neck. Just to warn you. **_

**-**

**Chapter 8 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 2 **_(continued)_

**-**

Jack woke up with ease the next morning, and went straight to distribution without waiting on the others. He didn't even make time to get a punch or two in with the Delancey brothers. He just got his papers and headed over to meet Cat.

She sat on the steps, wearing a green dress with a black sash, and another straw hat with long green ribbons. She sat like she felt small, with her hands in her lap, and her head down.

"Hey there," Jack said, announcing his presence.

"Oh, hi," she replied, looking up with a smile. "How do you do?"

"I do fine. Youse?"

She nodded her agreement.

"You never told me _your_ name," she said.

"Oh, pardon me. It's Jack Kelly."

She offered white-gloved hand, and he shook it gladly.

"Pleasure, Mr. Kelly," she said.

"Jack," he corrected. "Youse want to walk with me?"

"Don't you have to go sell newspapers?"

"Well, yeah, but it can wait. For you, it can wait."

She grinned, blushing again. Jack liked making her do that.

"I have to go right now anyway. I have to go to class."

"Maybe after classes and sellin' papes?"

"Maybe," Cat said agreeably.

Jack nodded, and watched her go back up the stairs. Behind her, the door opened and old skinny woman stepped out.

"There you are, Catherine. I've been looking for you. Come, classes are starting without you."

"Alright, Miss Gray, I'm coming."

"And who is this boy you are talking to?" she demanded. "He looks like a newsboy ruffian."

"He is, Miss Gray. I was just buying a paper from him. I wished to know the news."

Jack gave her a paper. She tried to give him a penny, but he refused.

"It's on me."

The woman snorted her displeasure.

"Well hurry up, and make sure you don't touch him. We just bathed you this morning." Miss Gray finally closed the door.

"My mentor," Cat explained her cheeks flaming in embarrassment. "Well, goodbye, Mr. Kelly."

"_Jack_," he corrected again. "See you later."

Cat giggled.

"It's still 'maybe'," she said, before heading up.

Jack started to walk off, then stopped. Very abruptly. Rich old skinny broad…

"Uh, Cat?"

"Yes?"

"What's Miz Gray's foist name?"

"Agnes."

Cat waved, then went inside, leaving him on the street.

Jack's heart froze, and he thought he'd never catch his breath again. A.G…. Agnes Gray….

Oh God…

He found the old broad. Jack looked up at the building, memorizing the name. Spot's long lost friend, maybe even love, was residing in that very building. He couldn't wait to tell Spot all about it.

-

Spot woke up early Sunday and frowned. He didn't have to sell papers today if he didn't want to, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to. This girl laying next to him was really starting to get annoying.

"Mmm," she said. "You awake now, Spotty-Honey?"

"Yeah, Beth," Spot hopped out of his bed and grabbed his pants. "And I gotta go."

"So soon?" she complained.

"Heya Spot!" Jack said, entering his room without invitation. "Heya Beth," Jack continued, tipping his cowboy hat to the lady.

"Jackie-boy!" Spot said with relief as he laced his boots. Finally an excuse to leave this woman behind. "Look at ya, all in a hurry, and grinnin' from eah to eah. You got me some good news, doncha, Cowboy?"

"Do I evah. You're gonna like this one, Spot."

Spot froze.

"Don't tell me you _found_ her?"

"You're little goilfriend? Sure did. Come on, I'll show ya!"

"What little 'goilfriend'?" Beth said in surprise. "Spot? _Spot_!"

But Spot just kissed her, tossed her clothes at her and left with Jack.

"So what she look like?" Spot insisted. "God, it's been forever, hasn't it? She's gotta be like seventeen now, eh?"

"Well," Jack admitted. "I don't rightfully know. But I saw the old broad, and this goil I met goes there, and she said the lady's named Agnes Gray, like the handkerchief ya gave me. Real hoity-toity kinda place. Snooty, ya know?"

"Fits," Spot agreed. Then he grinned at Jack knowingly. "Ya met a goil?"

Jack ran a hand over his hair.

"Yeah," Jack admitted. "Real pretty one. Kinda shy, ya know the type?"

"From the way ya make this place sound, she's too good for ya, street rat."

They chuckled.

"Man," Spot said, shaking his head. He was feeling a million things at once, and he was ready to burst all over the pavement. "I wondah if she'll even remembah me. It's been a long time. I wondah if she still goes 'round by the name Cat, or if she just went with Catherine."

Jack suddenly stopped smiling, but Spot didn't seem to notice. He recovered just as quickly, kept walking, staying cool and collected.

"You goilfriend's name is Cat, huh?" he said good-naturally.

"Yeah, but cut that out, she ain't me goilfriend. Nevah was, nevah will be."

Spot took one glance at Jack and his gray eyes narrowed.

"Why?" he said sharply.

"Nah, no reason," Jack said, passing it off. "Name sounded funny, is all. So, if you ain't courtin' her, what's your business combin' the whole stinkin' city for her?"

"Swore I'd take care of her," Spot said, going back to sit on his crate. "So ya like her, huh? She that good-lookin'?"

"What?" Jack said in alarm. "What youse talkin' 'bout, huh?"

"I'm just askin'."

"Youse a piece of woik, Spot," Jack said, shaking his head in amazement. "How'd you know?"

"I'd say it's a gift, but ya can't hide anythin' worth beans… Francis."

"Shut up!" Jack said inconspicuously peering around to see if anyone heard. "Geezes, Spot! How'd youse find out that too?"

"Got contacts nowadays, Cowboy. Don't be so surprised. Can't run a city and be oblivious. But don't think on it none, yer secret's safe wit' me."

"Youse spyin' on me?"

Spot smirked to himself and said nothin' as they began to cross the Bridge.

"Look, Jack. I nevah got to thank ya for introducin' me to Brooklyn." Spot said as they began to cross the Bridge. "I owe her to ya for that. She's me best lady yet. Tried an' true. Treats me swell." Spot said, patting his friend on the back reassuringly. "I got all the love I need right heah. She gives me a different lady in me bed every night. Got me loads a' dough playing the tables 'round. The day I fall for a woman," Spot turned around, and spread his arms to his city. "Will be the day I give up all _this_. She's got the only key t' me heart."

-

"This is the place, Spot." Jack said, pointing to the quaint little white building on the corner. "She's due out anytime."

Spot stood loosely, feeling a bit nervous in spite of himself. Four years it's been, so he didn't know what to expect.

"Hey, hey, Jack." Spot said. "Don't tell her me name. I gotta see her foist. See if she recognizes me."

"Sure, Spot, no problem." Jack obliged. He seemed confused at Spot's anxiety, but let it go.

Spot hid close by, around the corner, and let himself peek around it just a bit, like a child spying. He never felt more foolish.

But then the doorknob turned. The door creaked open slow. Spot clenched the wall and didn't breathe.

-

**Revised. Hope you like better. Speak in no full sentences. RedRogue- Out.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	10. The Key Around His Neck 3

Chapter 9 

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 3 **_(continued)_

-

Cat stepped out of the house. She was clothed in a dulled earthen blue, trimmed with black lace and sash and a straw yellow hat with a black ribbon. She had long brown locks down her back, coiled in wonderful tube-like curls. Her golden eyes shone the color of honey in the harsh glare of the sun. Her little pointed nose was clear of the freckles of her youth, leaving untainted porcelain skin behind.

She was _beautiful_.

She beamed widely at Jack, and came hurrying down the steps to embrace him. Spot watched her as one mesmerized. She certainly had changed. He scolded himself for being so entranced, but even still, couldn't pry his gaze from her.

"Heya, Cat," he heard Jack say. Even if Spot wasn't looking right at him, he could tell Jack was speaking through a wide smile. Spot smirked. They looked good together. Why did his chest sink when he thought that?

"How are you?" she asked Jack in her soft sweet voice. It sounded older now, sure, but Spot would still recognize it as Cat's.

"I'm good, I'm good. I have someone heah to see ya actually."

She perked up and looked around him.

"Really? Where?"

"Hey, come heah!" Jack called.

Spot fingered his cane, and glanced at his shoes, and had second thoughts to if he should.

"Com'_on_, ya little bum," Jack still insisted.

But Spot wasn't afraid. She was just Cat. That little girl he lived under the same roof with in another lifetime. She was just a little girl.

But that was a lie. She wasn't a little girl anymore, though she was still familiar, she had been raised to be a proper woman. She wasn't the girl he knew.

Spot stared for a moment more.

"_Com'on_!"

He couldn't do it. It was enough for him to know she was safe. Being back in her life would only cause her trouble, and he knew it.

"Where is that bum?" Jack wondered aloud, then looked around the corner, but Spot was gone.

-

That night, Jack walked slowly up the abandoned dock with silent steps. The waves crashed beneath the pillars violently in the cold night, with the large moon as the only light for his path.

There was Spot, sitting on the edge of the wooden structure. He held no cane, carried no slingshot. It was too late at night; he must've left them at his lodging house. When Spot couldn't sleep, he came here, and that was how Jack knew where to find him.

Jack stopped walking when he came to edge of the dock, putting his chilled hands in his pockets and looking out into the river with Spot. Neither spoke for many moments.

Finally Jack looked down at him.

"You take on the whole o' Brooklyn, and carry it on yer back, face fights with overwhelmin' odds--"

"I wasn't afraid of her, Jack," Spot interrupted. Jack sat down beside him, and let his feet hang over the edge like Spot.

"Then why, huh?"

"Gave it a think," Spot replied coolly. "Decided it wasn't such a good idea."

"Youse been lookin' for this goil for four years. _Now_ youse decide youse don't wanna find her?"

"I _did_ wanna find her. And it's good enough for me to know she's taken care of. There ain't no good that can come from her seein' me. Just gotta let her live out her life."

Jack sighed, and looked back to the river.

"Youse evah think maybe she _wants_ to see youse? Maybe she's worried about _youse_?"

Spot looked at him for the first time that conversation. It was a confused expression, but still cold. He said nothing, just looked back at the river.

-

Quiet time was Cat's favorite time of day. It was the time to just sit down, drink tea by the night's fire, and get lost in their preferred reading materials. Cat made herself comfortable on a red leather armchair, and looked around to make sure the authority had gone to bed.

Once satisfied that they were, she pulled out the newspaper Jack had given to her earlier.

They didn't get newspapers often around here. Miss Gray felt that politics and current events should be left to the men to worry their heads over, and women should focus on the house. She said if they wanted to know the news so badly they should simply walk up to a man, and ask.

But when a newspaper did somehow find it's way into the house, Cat savored it, reading it from front to back, every word.

After she was done reading about the trolley strike on the front page, she turned to the next. A story on page three caught her eye first.

"**Child Riots Linked to Underage Organizations**"

_A recent killing of local street gang leader Henry "Haze" Dickens has prompted police to investigate a sudden rise of riots in the Brooklyn area. Numerous riots consisting of minors, mainly shoeshines, newsies, and sweatshop children, have made police assume the possibility of a new 'leader' of these gangs in Brooklyn. Officer James Tuber reasoned that these children are starting the riots "to mark a sense of territory", and that single gang has been linked to most of these riots, led by an unknown youth who goes only by the name of…_

Cat sat up in her chair. She read the name once, then again, then once more to be sure her eyes weren't lying to her.

_Spot_.

-

Spot dragged his feet as he walked home. After talking to Jack, Spot hadn't stopped thinking about what he said. About her. She looked nice, all grown up, like him. She seemed familiar. When Spot saw her, something came inside him he couldn't explain it. A calm came over him. It wasn't love; it was security. It was like the feeling you get when you have a long day of work and toil, and you open the door to reveal your warm home, promising rest. He didn't know how else he could describe it.

Was he wrong to take that decision out of her hands?

No. He decided right. It was like he said, no good could come out of it. So why bother?

-

The next day, after all her classes and lesson, Cat took up her shawl and some money, and told a friend to cover for her. She was going to find him. She was going to Brooklyn.

She went to the first man on a carriage she saw.

"How much to get to Brooklyn, sir?"

"Two dimes, ma'am," he replied. "But are you going all by your lonesome? Brooklyn's a mighty rough place nowadays."

"Yes, sir, I am," she paid him his fare, and climbed aboard.

-

"Just let me out here," Cat called to the man when they crossed the bridge and had gone a short ways.

"Are you sure, miss?" the driver said with concern.

"Yes, very sure indeed."

So the man left her behind.

Cat gripped the newspaper in her hands and stared at the ominous city. But she would not let fear get the better of her. She held her head high, and walked through the streets in confidence. The newspaper said something about his gang hanging around the bay harbor, so that's where she decided to start.

"Excuse me, sir," she said to a newsie nearby. "Do you know where I can find Spot Conlon?"

"Nope," he replied. "Nevah hoid of him."

Cat sighed.

"I assure you, I am not with the police, and I'd be willing to compensate."

The kid looked around himself.

"You had bettah not be with the bulls. Spot's the best thing that evah happened to this town, heah? Used to get beat up and robbed every day when Haze was runnin' things. Now I actually make profits around heah."

"I am just trying to find an old friend."

She placed a nickel in his palm. He looked around himself again.

"He's always movin', but I happen to know his favorite place is on the river, usually at the fishing docks right ovah theah. I just saw him this mornin' sellin' around theah. It's your best bet."

"Thank you, very much," Cat said in utmost gratitude, then made her way over.

Boys were abundant, everywhere. They jumped off the docks to the water below, played games amongst themselves, and even fought each other. But one thing was common: every time she passed, their attention would turn. She seemed so out of place, in her nice clothes and them barely in anything.

Hoots and calls would abound, but she readily ignored them.

"I'm looking for Spot Conlon!" she announced. They looked amongst themselves like they were confused, and didn't answer.

"Please, can anyone help me?"

"What you need to find Spot for?" one called out. The others were interested in the answer too.

"He's a old friend."

Laughter erupted, like she had just told a hilarious joke. They slapped their knees, and each other on the backs, and some rolled on the floor. Only one kept a straight enough face to talk.

"You," he chuckled. "Are an ol' friend a' his?"

"Yes."

More laughter.

"Spot aims higher and higher nowadays, don't he fellah's?" the one she had spoken to said. More hilarity ensued.

Cat wouldn't stand for this. She pushed him aside and continued down her way.

-

"Spot," Woodsy said, coming to his perch in a hurry. "There's a goil comin'. Says she's lookin' for ya. Says she knows ya, and ya ol' friends."

"A goil?" Spot repeated in wonder.

"Yeah."

Spot grabbed his cane and hopped down from his river view.

"Com'on, this way," Woodsy said, motioning for him to follow. They went further down the docks, and hid behind a larger cargo crate.

"That's her," Woodsy said, pointing. Spot peered around slowly. And nearly had a heart attack.

"Oh, my God… It's Cat."

"You _do_ know her?" Woodsy said in surprise. Spot leaned his back against the crate and out sight. What in the world was she doing here? How did she know he was here?

"_Damn_ you, Jack," Spot cursed under his breath.

-

**Please review.**


	11. The Key Around His Neck 4

**Chapter 10 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 4 **_(continued)_

-

"Please," Cat begged another Brooklynite boy. "I've come all this way. I have to see him…"

"What ya gonna do about her, Spot?" Woodsy insisted on knowing.

Spot thought quickly, his mind racing.

So he left the decision to her.

He discreetly stepped out, and followed a heard of newsie boys past her like it was natural. He blended in perfectly, not meeting her eye. If she found his face in this crowd, he decided, then she deserved to find him.

She must've recognized him_ immediately_, because she gasped and clutched her heart. She didn't speak, just stood there with her mouth open.

Spot sighed to himself. So much for that. He put on his best poker face, trying to not look intimidated or emotional in any way, and turned around.

"Heya, Cat," he said good-naturally. "How's it rollin'?"

But she still wouldn't speak. Neither did any of the boys around her, who had finally stopped laughing.

"Life treatin' ya good?" Spot went on. He put his hands in his pockets, and just looked at Cat, scanning her for her response to him. Still shocked, but now maybe even a little… relieved?

"Oh, my dear goodness. Spot," she said at last, embracing him. He stood straight, just taking it and waiting impatiently for her to be quite done.

"Nice to see you too," Spot said, then pulled her away from him. Spot then noticed his boys, gaping at the sight.

"Hey, hey! Don't you have woik to do?" Spot yelled. They got busy with various jobs very quickly.

"Walk with me," Spot commanded, heading for his favorite dock, and leaving the others behind.

Spot had so many things to say to her it seemed, but he couldn't decide where to start. They walked in silence all the way to the end of the dock, and Spot sat, expecting her to do the same. She did.

"I'm sorry," Was the first thing that came to his mouth.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," she said quietly.

Silence again. Spot had to decide on another topic, but there were so many…

She beat him to it.

"I never heard from you," she said that accusingly, like he had done that on purpose, like he wanted to avoid her all these years.

"I couldn't find ya," he replied.

"I left you a lead."

"Two letters for an entire state? It took time."

"Four years?"

Spot grew angry.

"God, woman, what do ya want me to say? I tried! Jack had all his boys combin' half the city, and I had all a' mine coverin' the other half. Don't tell me I wasn't lookin'. Sorry if it wasn't fast enough to suit you, princess."

She lowered her gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just… I…"

"You treated bad theah?"

"Well, no."

"You wanted to get away?"

"No. I just… I missed you."

She bit her bottom lip and her cheeks went red. Spot smirked. Something that never went away in her, he supposed.

"So tell me about yerself," Spot insisted. "What have ya been doin' while I wasn't around?" Spot tugged at the ribbon on her hat. "I see they give ya nice things to put on yerself."

"Miss Gray's really rich," she explained. "She takes the prettiest girls off the streets and teaches them song and dance and music and arts… Then when we're old enough she finds us a rich man to marry and sees to it that we're taken care of. No one knows why she does it, but she seems to enjoy it."

"What year do the goils usually get married?"

"Around sixteen or seventeen. Miss Gray says I'm due for one but I can't find one I like."

Spot nodded.

"So you're gonna up and marry a guy, huh?"

She looked to the floor.

"I've thought about it."

"Jack's taken to ya, ya know."

She grinned in embarrassment.

"I know."

"Ya like him?"

She looked to the floor again.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

Spot nodded understandingly, and fingered his cane.

"Well, it ain't _my_ life," Spot said with a strong hinting tone. Cat frowned.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're the one with the education, princess, you figure it out."

"Please stop calling me that."

"I can do what I like… _Princess_."

"You haven't changed," she said with disappointment. "You're still mean. Meaner, if possible."

"Ya expected me to change?"

"I guess you can't out here."

"Yeah, not all a' us live in a _castle_."

She looked to the ground.

"So," she went on. "You've been keeping busy, I presume?"

"Eh, I haven't done much, just been stayin' in Brooklyn, makin' some friends… and enemies…"

"From what the papers say, it sounds like you are really important out here."

"Does it now?" Spot said in surprise. Never expected the papers to catch up with him like that. It pleased him that he had made such a racket in this town that they would pay attention.

"Yeah, guess I am, then," Spot said. He looked at her long and hard. Flashes came, ones of her face as it was, as he remembered. Her as a little girl. She was beautiful back then too, he knew that then, and he knew it now.

"Ya look good," Spot said abruptly. She looked at him with surprise. It was the first nice thing she had ever heard him say.

"Thank you," she replied. "You look the same."

Spot smirked. She tried to recover.

"I… I mean as handsome as I remember."

Spot wanted to say something like "of course" or "I know it", but he couldn't bring himself to. Something about a compliment, when it came from her…

Spot could have kicked himself. He was just liking her pretty face was all this was. She was familiar territory, a face marking a time when life was simple and secure.

She let him stare, which he didn't realize for a moment that he was doing. He turned back to the view of the river.

"Why do ya lie to' me?" he said. She was taken aback.

"You _are_ handsome, you always have been--"

"That's not what I meant."

He couldn't help facing her again. He liked to look at a person's eyes when he engaged in conversation. Eyes were a window into a mind, a soul. Spot felt he could read any person, even a stranger, if he could just see their eyes.

"I mean, why do ya tell me you're so happy, when I can see plainly that ya ain't?"

She seemed offended immediately, but didn't answer.

"I should probably get home," she said in a huff. Spot sighed.

"Come on, I'll take ya."

"No," she said coldly. "Not you."

She got up and began to storm off. Spot could only follow.

"Whatsa mattah?" Spot said, close at her heels. "We're just talkin' honest heah. Would ya rathah me lie to ya? Ya should have told me that foist when ya came marchin' up on my turf unannounced. Give me some sort a' clue, at the very least."

"Ugh!" she said, stomping away even faster. "Get away from me."

"What'd I say?" he said, keeping up with her easily. "Were ya expectin' some other Spot Conlon?"

"In a word, yes," she replied through her teeth.

"People change out heah."

She stopped.

"Do you _like_ what you have become? Do you look in your reflection and _smile_?"

Spot paused.

"Well, _yeah_, actually."

She started walking off again.

"We've grown apart, Spot."

"We nevah were _togethah_ in the foist place! That was all in _your_ imagination, princess."

She gasped in her surprise, clasping her heart.

"How _dare_ you!"

"Go ahead, deny it. Lie to me some moah."

She whirled around, embarrassed tears now in her eyes.

"What, ya gonna cry now, princess?"

He had her cornered and they both knew it. And when you corner a cat they'll lash out anyway they can…

"Fine, I'll admit it," she said harshly. "I was in love with a _dream_, of what I wanted you to be… a dream of a person kind at heart, who would risk his own life to save mine. A man in that in some course of his life, would find it in him to break through the tough outer shell, and allow himself to display any small fragment of affection for the sake of another… preferably _me_. But I see now that I was blind in my youth. I'm glad I saw you, Spot. Now I can put my childhood foolishnesses aside, for that's all you were."

Spot let her walk off alone. No one had ever dared spoken to him like that in a long, long time. Especially a woman. It _hurt_, surprisingly, because he knew it was all true. He never truly believed any woman could love a man like him anyway, so he didn't feel so bad when he played 'catch and release' with them. She just made him fully realize that he was a horrible person. He lived on other people's fear for his own survival. Had he turned into Haze and not noticed? Perish the thought…

He watched her climb into a carriage, this time willingly. He couldn't let her leave him again… He couldn't.

"Cat!" he said, running over and jumping into the carriage with her.

"Spot? What are you--?"

"Shhh," Spot said, putting a finger to his own lips. "Listen, ya can't go wanderin' 'round New York by your lonesome, and ya know it. That tells me that youse were willing to risk everything just to see little ol' me again. So I ain't gonna let all that be in vain and let ya go away all mad and whatnot. Wilson, go ahead."

The man nodded and shook the reins.

"Listen," Spot said to Cat. "I'm sorry I'm such a stinkin' dumbass. K?"

"Are you going to change?"

"Now, that's askin' a _lot_…"

She crossed her arms and put her gaze out the window.

"Fine, fine," Spot said, making her face him again. "I'll try. A'right?"

She fought a grin without success.

"Alright. Then I'll see you again."

Spot didn't reply for a moment, considering Jack. They didn't seem too serious yet, so he agreed.

"Sure. When?"

"Tomorrow. After classes."

When they reached their destination, Spot jumped out first, and held out his hand for her, much to her surprise. She put her hand on his and thanked him.

"Thanks, Wilson," Spot said, waving the driver off. "Say hi to your wife and kids for me. Give Allison an especially big hug."

"Will do, Spot," the driver said with the tip of his hat.

"You know him?" Cat asked.

"I know everyone from Brooklyn," Spot explained. "Ya gotta love Brooklyn for it to love ya back."

They went to the bottom of the stairs to her building. As soon as her foot hit the first stair, Spot grabbed her sleeve.

"Hey, Cat," he said. "I really meant it. About ya lookin' nice and all. Good colah for youse or somethin'."

She blushed, something Spot missed the most about her.

"Thank you," she said. "I meant it too. About you."

Spot nodded his thanks back.

"Good night," she said, as the first of the sunset hit her face. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Then she left behind that awful door that always seemed to take her away from him.

"Tomorrah," Spot repeated. "I'll be there, princess."

-


	12. The Key Around His Neck 5

**Chapter 11 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 5 **_(continued)_

-

Spot took up his cane the next morning and went for a walk. There was no woman in his bed this day. Since he talked to Cat last night, something happened to him. He lost his desire for another woman. Even his boys were starting to notice. He was too deep in thought, even for business as usual.

He had to see her again; he couldn't wait for this afternoon. He didn't even stop to buy papes, just went straight to Manhattan.

Cat. In so few words she had done so much to his mind.

He hadn't stopped thinking about her, and every word she had said. He wondered about all the what-ifs. What if Jack _hadn't_ seen her first? What if he had fell for her back when they lived at the saloon? It was a happy reverie, one he enjoyed all the way to Cat's place.

When Spot reached her corner, he turned to head for the front door, then doubled back and hid behind the wall. Jack was already making his way over, while Cat waited for him on the steps.

"Hey there, beautiful," Jack said. Spot clenched the gold tip of his cane, and for some odd reason hated Jack at that moment.

"Jack, you're late," she said. "I was just about to go in."

"I know, darlin', I'm sorry about that. The Delancey broddah's were givin' me a lotta troubles today."

"It's alright."

"Youse still glad to see me, right?"

She nodded with a shaky smile. Jack smiled in return, and slipped his hands around her waist. Spot ground his teeth.

"Ya miss me?" Jack said, fishing for reassurance.

"Of course," she replied.

"That's my goil."

Jack leaned his forehead to hers.

"I have to go," Cat said quietly. "I'll see you this time tomorrow, yes?"

"Sure thing," Jack promised.

She broke off from him and started up the stairs.

"Hey…" Jack said, not letting go of her hand. He playfully jerked her back, and pressed his mouth to hers. She sank into him, sighing happily, and they stayed that way for an eternity, it seemed.

Spot's eyes grew wide, and he pulled his gaze away. Not serious… who was he kidding? He could have kicked himself. He never felt so stupid. She was off limits, and that was that. She was Jack's girl. Jack was his best friend. He was worth more to Spot than any stupid girl. Spot had to swear Cat off forever.  
Too bad it was easier said than done.

-

Jack headed for the distribution office after visiting Cat, smiling and feeling lightheaded. Today was going to be a good day. He could feel it. There was something in the air.

"Jack!" Pie-Eater came running. He was panting, looking stressed. "God, where have you been?"

"Whatsa mattah?"

"It's Pulitzer. Ya gotta come and see!"

Jack ran with Pie-Eater through gates and straight to the others, who were gathered around looking glum.

"What's with all the frowns on your faces for?"

"They jacked up the price," Kid Blink explained. "Ya heah that, Jack? Ten cents a hundred! Ya know, its bad enough that we gotta _eat_ what we don't sell, now they jack up the price! Can ya believe that?"

"This'll bust me," Skittery complained. "I'm barely makin' a livin' right now."

"I'll be back sleepin' on the streets," Boots chimed in.

"It don't make no sense," Mush said to Crutchy. "I mean, all the money Pulitzer's makin', why would he gouge us?"

"Because he's a tightwad, that's why," Racetrack explained. The others seemed to agree.

"Pipe down," Jack commanded. "It's just a gag."

Man, he wished he could believe his own words. He went up to Mr. Wisely.

"So, why the jack up, Weasel?"

"Why not?" he said in his scummy way. He licked his dirty finger and held it up in the air to test the winds.

"It's a nice day," he said with a smile. Jack had enough of him, and turned to go.

"Why don'tcha ask Mr. Pulitzer?" Weasel called after him.

"They can't to this to me, Jack," Kid Blink whispered.

Jack's heart went out to his friends. He knew that if they went along with this, half of them would starve sooner of later.

"They can do whatever they want," Race retorted grudgingly. "It's their stinkin' paper."

Like Racetrack. He gambled every extra cent he had. He had nothing saved to eat with now, or pay lodging. He lived on the dime a day he made. Now he'd only have a nickel. He was already in so much debt as it was, with how much he gambled…

Jack sighed and sat down next to Boots.

"It ain't fair," Boots said to him. "We got no rights at all."  
And Boots. He wasn't lying when he said he be back on the streets. He wouldn't be able to pay lodging either.

"Come on, it's a rigged deck," Racetrack said in anger, like he couldn't accept it either. "They got all the marbles."

"Jack," Mush said convincingly. "We got no choice, so why don't we get our lousy papes while they still got some, eh?

"No!" Jack said, not wanting to accept it all just yet. "Nobody's goin' anywhere. They can't get away with this!"

"We gotta eat, Jack!" Race argued. Soon everyone was arguing amongst themselves.

"Give him some room, clear out. Give him some room!" little Les said, parting through the small crowd. "Let him _think_."

They sat for a moment in suspense. Kid Blink handed Jack a cigarette to help. He took it gladly, and just thought.

-

"Spot!" a little kid ran up to Spot in a hurry. Spot had come to visit the specifically.

"Heya, Clickside!" Spot replied happily. "What's the update?"

"I spied on the goil like youse told me to."

Spot shushed him, looking around. Jack's kids lived around here, and who knew who was listening.

"Yeah, yeah, keep it down, kid. What about her?"

"A man came in this mornin'."

"Ya mean besides Jack?" Spot asked intently.

"Yeah. Big rich fellah. Says he's lookin' for a broad. So Ise go around back to heah from the kitchen windah--"

"Yeah?"

"And he tells the old broad he's lookin' for a fiancée! Ya know, that's a fancy word for--"

"Yeah, I know what it means," Spot said with annoyance. "What else?"

"So the ol' lady tells him about _your_ lady… Cat."

"What'd he say to that?"

"Took one look at her and was hooked. Hittin' all ovah her and everythin'. Was disgustin'. I expect to be paid extra for that."

Spot frowned to himself at this news. She was getting engaged? But what about Jack? Spot gave Clickside an extra penny, snickering at the little kid's nerve talking this way to the prince of Brooklyn. Spot, figuring the child's report was finished, stood up to go. He had a lot to think about.

"Oh, and I talked to her," the kid added. Spot whirled around in alarm.

"To the goil? What'd I say about you doin' that? I said, '_don't do that_', didn't I?"

"I know! But she asked if I was woikin' for ya."

"And you told her _yes_?"

"Well… _yeah_."

"Give me that back!" Spot said, snatching the extra penny back from Clickside's hand, and slapped him upside the head. "Whatsa mattah with youse?"

"She told me to tell youse somethin'."

"What?"

Clickside held out his hand. Spot sighed and put the penny back in it.

"Well," the kid said happily. "She wants to meet ya tomorrow night, and she says it's important and not to stand her up like ya did last time. And she told me to give ya this. She didn't say what it was for."

He handed Spot a silver key.

"A'right, a'right. Get outta heah."

Spot sat and thought for a while on all the boy had said. Why did Cat want to see Spot? Nothing made any sense, and it wouldn't until he asked her himself. What was with the key? Was she messing with his mind? No doubt he was going to lose this little thing. He headed back for the lodging house, and put it on his oak dresser.

Spot stared at it for a moment more, then left it behind.

-

"Cat, what is the matter with you?" Cat's schoolmate Molly said, many hours after Jack left. "You've been out of it all day."

Cat tried to stop grinning like a madman and collect herself.

"I just can't seem to focus today, Molly."

"She's daydreaming," another friend, named Florence, said. "About the _boy_."

Cat acted shocked at her friend's accusation.

"Honestly!" she said. "I am _not_ daydreaming about _boys_."

"Then why can't you stop smiling?"

Cat threw her gaze to the floor. The other girls squealed, dropping whatever they were doing and crowding around her.

"Oh, the romance!"

"Tell us about him, Cat!"

"But boys are not allowed!"

"Oh, the _scandal_!"

"Stop, all of you!" Cat begged. "_Please_."

"Then _tell_ us," Molly begged.

"I…" Cat paused. Then grinned again like a crazed idiot. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. He's so mysterious, so… handsome…"

"What does he look like?" a girl named Samantha insisted.

"Why, didn't you all _see_ him?" Florence said as-a-matter-of-factly. "He just came to visit her this morning. Very dreamy. If I were you, I would have kissed him too…"

Cat bit her lip as the others squealed more at this juicy news.

"Oh…" Cat said, her brow furrowing. "You're talking about Jack…"

Florence seemed confused.

"Of _course_, Cat. Whom else would we be talking about?"

Cat chuckled in embarrassment.

"No one… of course…"

-

**Please review, it makes my day.**


	13. The Key Around His Neck 6

**Sorry, but this chapter needs to be straightish and shortish. I promise another chapter tomorrow, as an apology.**

**-**

**Chapter 12 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 6 **_(continued)_

-

"Spot!" Woodsy came running up with a worried look on his face. Spot immediately paid attention.

"Ya didn't sell today?" Woodsy said through his panting breath.

"No, why?"

"They jacked up, didn't ya heah? Everyone's goin' nuts."

Spot's head was quickly thrown back in the game, and off of his personal affairs like Cat.

"_What_?" he said in surprise, feeling anger almost instantly. "How much?"

"A dime on a hundred. Every newsie in New York is mad. They say Crazy Jake's and his boys are goin' along with it, but Jack's boys…"

"What about him?"

"They're sayin' somethin' about a strike."

"No doubt he'll come to me for help too…" Spot guessed thoughtfully.

"I figure it's only a mattah a' time."

Spot sighed.

"We can't afford to help Jack, Spot," Woodsy said. "Youse know how we are. He'd bettah be serious or we all gonna starve or be sent to the refuge."

"I know it," Spot said, nodding. "Just trust me. Wait 'til he comes. I'll talk wit' 'im."

Spot lingered on his perch for a while, before heading back to the lodging house for sleep. He had decided not to go see Cat, even though she wanted him to. In fact, he wondered if he should see her again. He'd have to think about it more. He didn't know what he'd do or say if he did see her. Something happened when he was around her; he lost control of himself. He didn't know if he liked it, and it definitely wasn't good if this happened around one of Jack's girls.

But God, it hurt. He wanted to see her again so badly. He just kept telling himself to choose: her or Jack. Jack was the answer every time. Spot had never had a truer friend. It had been years since he first met Jack now, and they had gone through a lot together, and their oath of allegiance was not going to be so easily broken. Not over a stupid woman. She was just a little girl. She wasn't worth it… Not worth all he'd have to pay.

So why was he so stuck on her?

Spot headed up the stairs and dropped his cane and slingshot on his bed. His eyes fell to the dresser, where he had left Cat's key. But it was gone.

Spot grabbed his cane, stormed out of his room and shouted over the railing of the stairs:

"Alright, who took my key?"

The boys seemed confused, and mumbled amongst themselves.

"What key?"

"Don't you play stupid!" Spot yelled, stomping down the rest of the stairs. "I want to know where that nice little silver key on my dresser went."

Spot scanned each face for a clue. Any sign of dishonesty, or nervousness. Near the back, he had a winner.

"Fingers!" Spot called. "Empty your pockets."

The tall, thin boy hesitated.

Spot marched right up to him, and jabbed his cane under Fingers's chin.

"_Now_," Spot said, not having much patience left.

So Fingers turned his pockets inside out, and down came the key, clinking to the ground.

Spot knelt down, eyes still on Fingers, and grabbed it off the floor. Fingers shook in fear, and remained silent. Spot hit his face once with the cane, making him bleed.

"Don't ya _evah_ steal from Spot Conlon, _heah_? I oughtta break your fingers, Fingers."

Fingers nodded fervently. Spot turned to everyone else in the room.

"Consider this a fair warning. Anybody steals from me again gets a swim in the Hudson. Heah?"

Everyone nodded.

"Now," Spot said, turning to Fingers again. "Why did ya want this little ol' key?"

"A guy paid me t' get it for him."

"What guy?"

"Big rich guy. How he knew you had it, I don't know."

Spot held his hand out.

"Somebody give me anoddah key."

One was placed in his hand immediately.

"Take this one instead," Spot said, grabbing Fingers's hand and placing the duplicate in it. "Give me thoity percent a' what he pays ya."

Fingers nodded quickly again.

"Now go to sleep, all a' youse."

Spot headed back upstairs, and sighed. So it looked like the rich fellow knew about the key, and was jealous. Something about this key was valuable. Only Cat had the answer as to why. He told himself that he'd visit her later, but not now. Brooklyn really needed him right now, and he had no time whatsoever for anything else.

Spot looped a dirty white shoelace around the key, and tied it around his own neck so it couldn't be stolen again. The first chance he got, he'd go ask what it was for, but for now, he needed to deal with Brooklyn business first. Brooklyn had to be first.

-

"Everyone's talkin' about Jack's newsies," Salty, a gang leader from Eastside, said. "About them goin' on strike and whatnot. Did ya heah?"

He blinked in the sunlight, putting up his hand to try and see Spot up on his river perch.

"Yeah, I hoid," Spot said, taking a big puff of his pipe. "Ya joinin' in with him, Salty?"

"Well, uh…" he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Well, one a' his boys came down and asked us to… But I was wonderin' what _youse_ was thinkin' a' doin', actually."

"Hmm," Spot said thoughtfully. He was the third guy to come to him with that same tune in this week alone. But Spot told them what he had told Woodsy.

"I ain't joinin' anythin' yet," Spot said to him. "Jack's smart; he'll come to me. I'm gonna talk to him. See if it's just a gag."

"But youse think it's unfair too, doncha Spot?"

"I think it's the woist thing that has ever happened to us, for sure."

Salty nodded, and since there was nothing left to say, started back home.

"Hey Salty," Spot called. "Say hi to ya sistah for me."

Salty glared evilly, but said nothing. He looked as if he had to gather every once of self-control he could, before he finally turned around and sulked off. Spot smirked and took another puff of his pipe.

"Hey Spot!" Woodsy said, running to his doorway. "Get a load a' this."

Spot followed Woodsy to the boarding docks, and saw many boys in suits putting stacks of papers onto the docks. Hundreds had to be in each stack. Spot could guess what was going on without even asking, but he thought he had better be sure.

"What's all this?" Spot asked loudly, gripping his cane in thought.

"Courtesy of Mr. Pulitzer," said one boy. A scabber kid. "Says they're misprints, and they should be gotten rid of heah to be dealt with however youse guys want."

When the last of it was dropped off, the first boy came up to Spot and put a dollar bill in Spot's hand.

"Happy sellin'," the scab said, tipping his hat and leaving.  
Spot smirked. Bribes.

"You know, Spot," Woodsy said with a greedy grin. "This strike may be the _greatest_ thing to ever happen to us. Ol' man Pulitzer will probably treat us like kings if we don't join."

Spot knew what was happening here. Pulitzer was afraid of him joining Jack's protest. Spot had too many influences. Combined with Jack's influences, they could rule New York. It pleased Spot greatly to know this piece of news. He was more powerful than he had originally imagined.

"We gonna sell the papes or what, Spot?" Woodsy insisted.

"Put them aside for now," Spot said. "Ise gotta feelin' Jack's boys gonna be heah today."

-

"Well, if it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick," Spot said with a cocky smile, spying Jack coming down with Boots and a nervous looking boy he didn't recognize. He was a bit surprised that Jack would come to deal with Spot himself, but then again, that was probably wisest.

"I see you moved up in the woild, Spot," Jack said, going past Spot's tough-looking boys like they were his own family. "Got a river view and everything."

Spot knew Jack was just trying to be antagonistic, as always, but that was their relationship. Jack spat in his palm, and Spot, smirking, did the same and shook his old friend's hand. He was glad to see Jack, but tried not to show it too much. Not wanting to ignore Boots, who probably still feared him, he said good-naturedly:

"Heya, Boots. How's it rollin'?"

Boots, in reply, held out a few marbles like an offering of peace.

"I gotta couple a' real good shooters heah."

"Yeah…" Spot agreed as he examined them, and took one to give it a test run. As he did so, he got to business. It wasn't like he all the time in the world to waste, but he'd spare the time as needed for Jack.

"So, Jacky-boy, uh…" he said as he fitted the marble in his slingshot. The nervous boy jumped out of the way like Spot was going to shoot _him_ or something. Idiot.

"I've been hearin' things from little boids," Spot went on.

"Yeah?" Jack said, acting dumb.

"Things from Harlem, Queens," Spot let the marble go, and as expected, it hit a beer bottle on a beam overhead. The others seemed impressed, by Spot paid it no mind.

"All over," he went on. "They're chirpin' in my ear. Jacky-boy's newsies is playin' like they're goin' on strike."

Jack, like Spot knew he would, did not bow to his challenges.

"Yeah, well we are," he said with self-assurance.

"But we're not playing," the jumpy guy said. "We _are_ going on strike."

Spot didn't have time to speak with whatever novice newsie decided to speak up to him. He was here to talk to Jack. What Spot hated, more than anything else, was a novice out of his own place. Best to make him remember what his place was.

"Oh yeah? _Yeah_?" Spot said with a nod, getting in the kid's face. "What is this, Jacky-boy? Some kind of walkin' mouth?"

The kid was even more jumpy after that.

"Yeah, it's a mouth," Jack agreed, putting a hand on the kid's shoulder to encourage him. "A mouth with a brain, and if you got half a' one, you'll listen to what he's gotta say."

Spot raised his eyebrows agreeably, folded his arms and took a seat. If Jack had confidence in this kid, he'd give him a minute or so. If he didn't capture Spot's interest in less than a minute, he'd send them all, including Jack, home packing. This strike, after all, was not in his best interests.

"Go on," Jack said to the kid. "Tell him."

"Well," the mouth kid said. "We started the strike, but uh, we can't do it alone. So, we've been talkin' to newsies all around the city."

"Yeah," Spot said impatiently. "So they told me. But what'd they tell you?"

"They're waiting to see what Spot Conlon does; you're the key. That Spot Conlon is the most respected and _famous_ newsie in all of New York, and probably everywhere else! And if Spot Conlon joins the strike, then _they'll_ join, and we'll be unstoppable! So you gotta join, becau-- well, ya _gotta_!"

Spot smirked with amusement. The kid was really trying hard.

"Well, you're right, Jack," he admitted. "Brains."

He got up and took out his cane.

"But I got brains too," he said decidedly, whacking his stick on the crate he sat on. "And more than just half a' one," he insisted to the jittery new kid, putting the cane in his face. It was Spot's turn to make them understand. _His_ turn to talk.

"How do I know you punks won't run the foist time some goon comes at ya with a club? How do I know you got what it takes to _win_?"

"'Cause I'm telling you, Spot," Jack said immediately. Spot considered that for a moment, but not too long. Any other time, any other situation, that would have been enough for Spot. But this was big, and they both knew Jack was asking a lot.

"That ain't good enough, Jacky-boy," Spot said finally. "Ya gotta show me."

-

**Please review. Now.**


	14. The Key Around His Neck 7

**Chapter 13 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 7 **_(continued)_

-

News came quickly to Spot about the riot by Jack's distribution office, about the wagon being overturned, and Crutchy being the first prisoner of war. It didn't please him. In fact it made Spot downright _mad_.

He kicked the stacks of newspapers that were delivered free of charge to his boys every day, untouched by his command. Yelling in anger, he ripped a few in his hands, and threw the pieces in the river.

His boys watched close by, watching Spot's fit of anger with fear and concern.

Jack couldn't expect to do this without Spot's help, but he was trying anyway. Spot considered Crutchy being taken as all the proof he needed that they were serious about this. It was enough for Spot. No more playing around.

"Spot," a kid named Griffin said. "We can't be dragged into this, we can't. It makes me mad too, but we just can't--"

"Why the hell _not_!" Spot yelled. "Because we're scared? It's injustice, is what it is. All of it."

"Spot, I didn't wanna tell ya this…"

Spot went and grabbed Woodsy's collar.

"What?"

"Well, see, I sorta hoid that the big-shots are planning some sorta sting for Jack's boys soon. A trap, sorta."

"And ya weren't gonna mention this… _why_?" Spot growled through his teeth. He was beginning to think Woodsy wasn't as loyal as he once was.

"I knew you'd rush into this, an'…"

Spot sighed, shoving him away.

"And ya know our boys can't do this, Spot!" Woodsy still insisted. "We can barely eat as we are. And youse got more than enough dough t' live on, so there's nottin' really in it for youse anyway!"

Spot climbed up to his perch.

"And if we just go along," Woodsy continued. "We'll be treated real nice, ya know?"

"Griffin!" Spot called once he reached the top, ignoring Woodsy completely. "Tell the boys to take every last one a' these stinkin' papes they tried to bribe us with and toss 'em ovah the Brooklyn Bridge. Make sure they're seen throwin' 'em. Then tell 'em to get a slingshot each. We're going to Manhattan foist thing tomorrah."

"But Spot!" Woodsy protested.

"Anyone who wants a cane in their face, speak up now!" Spot calmly. "But we all know Jack can't do this without us. We go in, we follow him, we _win_. As long as Jack's leadin' with me behind him, it's a sure thing. _If_ we just get off our hides, and _do_ somethin' about this, we don't have to put up with the lousy tenth of a cent. Sure, I got money. So you all know this ain't about the money to me. It's about it to _them_. To _you_. All a' you. Now Jack, I consider him to be a part a' Brooklyn. And nobody… messes… with Brooklyn!"

Cheers came from his loyal followers, making Spot smirk in amusement. Guess whether they wanted to or not, his boys were in this now.

-

Spot marched into Manhattan like he ruled that city too. But when the police came running, he knew he was too late to just march in the front gate of the distribution office sting. It was locked, Jack and his guys already trapped on the inside. He even thought he heard little kids in there too.

"Com'on," Spot said, taking the sharpshooters of his gang.

"Stay here!" Spot yelled to the rest of them. He smirked all of them, and said daringly: "_I'll_ open the gate."

They laughed at this, and Spot led the range shooters to the roofs. He jumped down to a small balcony with Woodsy on his right, and Griffin on his left, sporting a boastful grin. There was nothing Spot loved more than a good fight with the odds in his favor, and he knew he was going to save every one of their Manhattan butts in a few moments, making each and every one owe Brooklyn big for this. He was proud of that fact, that Jack would never be able to pay him in return. Spot was here to save the day, be a Good Samaritan, the hero. And he knew they would be overjoyed at the sight of him.

"Nevah' feah, Brooklyn is heah," he said with an arrogant smirk.

"Hey, it's Brooklyn!" Mush yelled in a happy surprise, noticing him first. The rest joined in, shouting "Brooklyn!" at the top of their lungs.

A few well-aimed shots were all Jack's boys needed to get on the upper hand. The scabs didn't even know what hit them.

"Hey, Spot!" Jack called, trying to nab his attention. Jack was the only one still overwhelmed, and needed his immediate assistance, it seemed. So Spot grabbed at a nearby pulley, and tried not to think of Cat then, when he had done this same action so many years ago, with her on his back, escaping a fiery building. A memory quickly shaken off.

Spot swooped down to Jack, hitting a herd of scabs on the way down, causing them to fall on one another like bowling pins.

Though they were still in the middle of the brawl, Jack took a second to spit in his hand, and like Spot read his mind, at the same moment Spot licked his own, and the friends shook heartily.

After that Spot headed for the gate to let his boys in and undo the final thread of the ambush. Manhattan was trapped no more.

More shouts of "Brooklyn!" were heard, this time from his own crew announcing their presence for all to 'hear and fear' as they would say.

With a very pleased Spot at their head, they charged as if for war. Spot whipped out his cane and just joined in, running and bashing a scab's head in as he lunged into the heat of the fight.

It didn't take long, though, for his boys to shove those scabs back in where they came from.

Soon everyone was cheering and shouting and congratulating one another. They had won… of course.

They gathered on the highest platform, all hugging and patting each other on the back. Everyone was pretty proud of themselves.

"You guys were great!" Kid Blink shouted to Spot through the noise.

"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Spot agreed. That's when he noticed a man with a camera.

"Freeze!" the man yelled.

"Alright guys," Jack said, trying to get everyone to pay attention. Before Spot knew what was happening, out came a flash.

After that the cameraman shook everyone's hand in congrats, and introduced himself to Spot as "Denton from the Sun".

It took Spot a second to realize he meant the _New York Sun_, as in, the newspaper.

Denton promised them all a big story, and to meet him at a certain restaurant tomorrow to let him show it around. Everyone agreed, and that's when they began to disperse. Spot agreed to stay at Jack's lodging house for the night, so he wouldn't have to go all the way home.

As they walked home, Jack patted Spot on the back and gave him a broad smile. It was worth more than any verbal 'thank you' Jack could say.

"I never got to ask," Jack said pointing to Spot's neck. "What's with the key?"

"Oh," Spot said looking down at it. "It's, uh… good luck."

That wasn't _exactly_ a lie, since it had brought him good luck so far… That's when he remembered Cat wanted to see him.

"I'll meet ya at the House latah, Jack," Spot said, parting ways with him. "I'll be back."

Jack didn't question him, since Spot always was needed in three places at once. He just tipped his hat and told him that he wouldn't wait up for him.

Spot made his way around the corner to Cat's place, and knocked on the wooden door. A girl answered.

"What do _you_ want?" she said with a sour tone.

"Cat," Spot replied.

"Oh, are you Spot or Jack?"

Spot was confused for a moment, then said:

"Jack."

"Then she says she's sorry she missed you today and she'll meet you tomorrow."

"I lied," Spot said. "I'm Spot."

The girl noticed the key around his neck, and nodded.

"Oh, I see, you little trickster. Then she says to give you this."

She handed him a slip of paper, then shut the door.

Spot opened the folded piece of paper, and inside were only a few words:

_388 Templeton St._

_10 o'clock Pm._

_--Cat_

That was nearby. Just up the road a bit. Spot stepped down each of the seven cement stairs, and when he reached the ground, sat.

Should he go? She was Jack's girl. What was even at this address? Spot just sat there and frowned. She was teasing him, was all this was. Just playing with him. But what was the harm in just paying his old friend a visit? It wasn't as if he was going to steal her from Jack. She liked Jack better anyway, right? Spot smiled at his reasoning. It didn't take much to convince him.

He looked up at the town clock tower. It was only five now. Might as well go back and wait.

Spot went home and played a few rounds of poker with the boys, beating the pants off of even Racetrack. Once he had them thoroughly angry with him, he called it a night.

"I'm going out," Spot said, forgetting why he even bothered making an excuse to leave. Maybe it was a guilty conscience, if he had a conscience at all. Spot wondered about that the whole way to the address on the paper. He finally reasoned that it wasn't guilt, it was responsible concern, and that was that.

So when that was decided he looked up at the place Cat had directed. It was a nice restaurant, called "Jones's", but by the looks of the dark inside, it was closed, and had been for a few hours at least.

Spot fingered the key around his neck. He was early, but he supposed it wouldn't matter. So he pulled the shoelace over his head, and inserted the key in the front door.

It didn't fit.

-

**Please review, if you would be so kind…  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	15. The Key Around His Neck 8

**Chapter 14 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 8 **_(continued)_

-

Spot frowned. What was this, the key didn't fit? Was she playing with him some more? Crazy broad. He backed up away from the building, checking the address again, just to be sure.

That's when the door opened.

"You didn't think it would be _that_ easy, did you?" Cat said with a wide grin. Spot looked at her. She was clothed in a lacy, white, high-necked dress, with a black sash around her little waist, and a small black feathered hat. Her hair was pinned in an updo of curls.

It took Spot a moment to regain some composure, having been distracted at the sight of the poverty stricken little girl he once knew in a fancy dress like that, and spent another moment trying to figure out what she was talking about.

"Oh, you mean the key?" he asked, pointing to it.

She nodded, her smile widening.

"What is it for, then?" Spot pressed.

Her smile turned mischievous.

"You'll find out, I hope. Come on inside."

_No_, Spot thought to himself. It was time to go. His guilt overwhelmed him all at once.

"It's late," Spot said, trying to find an excuse to leave.

"You don't have a curfew," she argued, grabbing his wrist and pulling him onward.

"No, I really have to--"

"Why do you lie to me?" she said with a strong hint of a cruel irony, making Spot remember when he spoke those exact words to her. "Why do you tell me you have to go when you really don't?"

He rolled his eyes like he was irritated, when they both knew he wasn't. He knew he shouldn't be here, but at the feel of her warm hand on his wrist, his feet decided not to listen to his mind's protests.

So he let her drag him in through iniquity's doorway. Through that door were many dining tables with overturned chairs placed on top, each covered with its own white tablecloth, making each one seem like a luminous ghost in the dim candle lighting. Many of the tables were moved against the wall, leaving a large area bare. He had definitely been expected here.

"How did you…?" Spot began, but she interrupted.

"Howard, the rich man courting me, owns this restaurant. He says I can come whenever I want to play for people."

"Play what?"

Cat grinned and pulled a white sheet off of something big nearby.

A piano.

A large, extravagant Grand, with ivory keys and a mahogany inlay.

"Howard bought it just for me," she said sheepishly. Spot examined it closer. The front had custom carvings and the bench was upholstered in red velvet. No doubt it has cost dear Howard a very pretty penny.

"Do you remember when I wished for one of these?" she said fondly, running her hand along the wooden edge as she walked around it.

"I remember," Spot replied sullenly. It was a sad memory of good times past. "Ya wished ya knew how to play it too."

She laughed.

"Yes, that's right. Well, I am most fortunate now to have both of those wishes granted to me."

She strolled over to the bench and sat down with her hands in her lap.

"I wanted to play for you."

Spot's heart lurched. _Oh God_. She was too wonderful, too perfect sitting in that little chair in front of the pretty piano. He needed to get out of here…

She opened the cover and scooted the bench up to the keys. She placed her delicate fingers on them, and pressed.

Music emerged, wonderful music like he had never heard before. Not even so long ago when he was rich himself, and the hired professionals would come and play at the snooty parties.

No, not even then had he heard a more beautiful piece of music. The melody paralyzed him. He leaned on his cane for support, thinking he may not be able to stand otherwise. He could only stare. Could only listen.

Her fingers danced across the keys like they were born to do so, and her body rocked with each beat of a chord, and her eyes drifted closed as she got lost in her own skill. She was enchanting.

That's when Spot knew it for sure. He was lost to this little girl. No, this _woman_, he corrected his own mind, for that's what she had surely become.

When she opened her mouth and began to sing, Spot nearly died then and there.

_You see me hide behind my dreams  
And so many dreams are now in my reach  
Too many times I've tried to leave  
And find that you're still keeping me_

_**I'm determined to  
See you  
Without your crowns and glory  
For you're the only  
Dream left  
That hasn't come true**_

Come and save me  
Or give me back my soul  
For it's not fair  
That you own both…

I have waited an eternity  
And this eternity beckons me  
For beautiful lies are all I see  
And still I'll die in happy tragedy

**Cause I'm determined to  
See you   
Without your crowns and glory  
For you're the only  
Dream left  
That hasn't come true**

So come and love me  
Or give me back my soul  
For it's not fair  
That you own both…

**For it's not fair  
That you own both…**

That's when he knew she was lost to him in return.

When she stroked the last key of the song, she lingered on it for more than a moment, letting it echo through the room. Then the place fell silent again.

She gulped and breathed very heavily, but Spot couldn't even draw one breath. He wanted her to say something, _anything_…

"I wrote it," she said at last.

Spot gulped too, trying to act casual, but failing.

"I figured that," he said, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Quiet swept the room like a cold breeze.

"Aren't you going to tell me what you thought of it?"

Spot shook his head. But she was right back there on the docks… they _had_ grown apart.

"No," he said decidedly.

She looked down at the piano keys again.

"Spot… If there was no Jack and me, no Howard, no Miss Gray, no Brooklyn--"

"--But there _is_," Spot interrupted. "You can't linger on the 'what-ifs'."

She hung her head.

"Spot… I have _loved_ you since--"

Spot backed away and shook his head to stop her.

"Don't," he said. "Just shut the hell up. Don't do this t' me."

She put her hands in her lap and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry I brought you here," she said shakily, her eyes welling up. "I should go."

So she got up and started for the door.

Spot wanted to say something. He knew it was his turn to say something. But he was paralyzed from the mouth down. He couldn't do it.

But before she left, she glanced over her cute little shoulder.

"I'll ask only one more thing," she said boldly. "Can you just tell me that you don't love me, right to my face? I'll leave you alone if you do. Can you just do that for me?"

When she said that, something tore inside Spot, and he miraculously had feeling return to his legs. He quickly went to her, put a finger under her chin, and lifted her eyes to meet his. She shook all over. It made Spot sick to his stomach. Anger sifted through him, at his own stupidity, at the injustice of it all… She should be _his_… Oh, he wanted to put his mouth on hers… Just kiss her then and there. It would make them both happy… So why couldn't he?

"No… I can't," he admitted through his harsh breaths. Because she _wasn't_ his, that's why. He had to hold himself back so _hard_… They weren't meant to be that way, he supposed.

"I can't tell you that," he said. "That's one lie I won't evah tell… But you listen t' me…"

He looked her straight in the eye, as the tears began to escape her hold.

"I ain't evah gonna do nottin' about it," he said harshly, through the pain it caused him to say it. "_Evah_, alright? Not _evah_!"

"I understand," she said with a nod. She sniffed, and Spot lifted her chin again.

"Hey, hey. None a' that. Don't be gettin' all sniffles on me, heah?"

She chuckled through her tears, and nodded again. Spot wiped one tear away, then quickly pulled his hand away, realizing he was too close, too close to her face, her mouth… He had to leave before he lost control completely.

"I gotta go," he choked. "And I wouldn't expect me back if I was youse."

She nodded once more, not taking her eyes off him.

He walked her back to her building slow, neither speaking the entire way. The silence was as cold as the night air. But there was nothing more to say. Spot was afraid if he opened his mouth, words he'd regret later would pour out in a flood. The walk seemed forever, even though it was barely one block down.

When they finally reached her stoop, they found Jack sitting on the bottom stair, waiting all by himself. His hat was pulled over his head, and if Spot hadn't known better, he'd say he was asleep. If only they were so lucky.

"I figured you'd be heah," Jack said, looking right at Spot.

"I'd bettah go," Spot said, the guilt catching up with him, though he hadn't really done anything wrong, he knew that in his mind, he had done it all.

"But, Spot…" Cat seemed disappointed, but he turned his back to her anyway. As Spot passed Jack, he paused for a moment.

"Nothin' happened," Spot said silently for only Jack to hear. Jack nodded.

"I know, Spot."

So Spot nodded in reply, then left them to talk. He wandered the empty streets alone, taking his time back to the lodging house.

-

**Cat's song written by me, and me alone, though was inspired in part by Chelsea Williams "_Crowning Jewels_". Go find her on the net, she's a wonderful indie artist and needs your support.  
Go ahead and review now.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	16. The Key Around His Neck 9

**Chapter 15 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 9 **_(continued)_

-

The next day, the conjoined gangs walked together to the restaurant to meet Denton. Spot didn't know what to think all morning, and Jack never talked to Spot as they got ready. Didn't even meet his eye. Spot acted like he didn't notice, much less care. It was true, he never felt worse in his life, but inside it was over now. The matter was dead. He had it set in his mind that he would never speak to that stupid girl again. And he was determined to do it, no matter what Jack could or would say.

It was when they walked to the restaurant together when Jack finally opened his mouth.

"So, I broke it off wit' Cat," he said casually, as they lingered in the back of the moving crowd of newsboys.

"That right?" Spot replied just as calmly, as they walked.

"So she's free now."

Spot looked at Jack with confusion. He didn't care what Jack said; he wasn't going for it.

"Good for her," Spot retorted quickly.

"Why don't you, uh, take a stab at her, Spot?" Jack put his hands in his pockets.

"Alright. Where would ya like me to stab her?" Spot replied.

Jack snickered, then looked into the distance like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Ya know what I mean, Spot," he said.

Spot stopped walking immediately.

"Look, don't play games wit' me, Jackie-boy. We both know she told ya the whole damn story last night."

"Nottin' gets past you… So what if she did?"

"I ain't takin' your girl from ya."

"She ain't my girl anymore. She's free to be anyone's now."

"Well, not mine," Spot said determinedly.

"Why don't you just _take_ her, Spot? Ya need my blessin'? Ya got it. My permission? God knows ya never used to need _that_, but sure, ya got that too. What do ya want?"

"You to get outta me _face_ about it, Cowboy."

Jack fumed, and stepped up to Spot. The other boys began to notice them fighting, and made sure to stay out of their way.

"Take her!" Jack yelled in his face.

"I don't want her!"

"_Take_ her!"

"Ya only broke up wit' her because a' me. I ain't lettin' that ovah my head. Ya don't _owe_ me anything for helpin' ya out wit' this strike, Jack."

"I owe youse a helluva lot, Spot. Probably more than a pretty girl like Cat, even. But we both know ya really love her, right?"

"And _you_ really love her too!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Spot winced in regret. One little word did him in, and he knew it.

"'Too', huh?" Jack repeated. "I knew it… Look, Spot, all I'm askin' is for youse t' think about it. You can make up your own damn mind."

"So what if I like her, huh?" Spot said. "I like plenty a' girls. I don't need yours too. It ain't like Cat and I are married or nottin'."

"Spot," Jack said, shaking his head. "You two have been married since youse was kids, even _I_ know that."

Spot had no response to that, so he shut his mouth and stared at Jack with a frown.

"Look," Jack said. "All I'm sayin' is, it don't mattah what we think. She loves _you_, pal. Ain't no gettin' around it. If it helps, I didn't like her that much anyways."

They made it to the restaurant, and the boys began to pour inside.

"Ya kiddin' me, right?" Spot said, just to make sure.

"Nah… besides," Jack said, throwing his arm around his friend's shoulder. "I just gotta load a' Davey's sister the oddah day, and boy, is she a piece a' sweet…"

Jack held the door open for Spot, then entered the restaurant behind him.

"Yeah, I'm sure she is, Jack…" Spot said as he passed.

Jack nodded, while the rest of the gang seemed confused.

"And thank _you_, Spot," Jack replied seriously. "It's the least I could do."

They happily spit shook, and never spoke of the matter again.

-

A tall, thin, older woman gloomily bought bread that morning with no optimism left in her. Her hair was tied lazily into a bun on top of her head, her eyes lost and wrinkled from the same worry through many years.

Her only son was lost. She had no hope of ever finding him again. He had run away, and was nowhere to be found. She wondered why even bothered. She had only one thing to go on: that he had become a newsie. So she searched, and felt like she had seen the face of every newsie in New York but her own boy. She now felt a familiar nagging voice in her, telling her that had to move on. It was the same voice that had been with her since the beginning, but with every passing year had only become louder. It became harder to ignore.

"Extra extra!_ Newsies Stop The World_!" a small newsboy shouted. The woman looked up at his face, as was a reflex developed over a long time searching. He was so young. Her son was old now, almost an adult. He was not hers.

But then she saw the paper the young boy was holding, and something in her heart jumped.

"I'll take one," she said desperately, holding out a penny to the small newsboy. He gave her one freely, thanked her, and left.

After all these years of searching, once she was about to give up, there he was, by the grace of God. She had spotted him a mile away. Right there, on the front page.

Her Patrick.

-

Spot walked around the corner to Cat's later that day, straightening his blue shirt to tidy himself up for her. It was the best he could look around here. What he'd give for a good bath then, like he used to in the old days, back when he was rich and snooty. The only thing he didn't like about newsie life was he could never get clean enough for his liking, and when he did, he had to spend a long time nude in freezing cold river to do it. What he would give, like he was telling the boys back at Tibby's earlier, to have a nice white porcelain tub, with wooden feet… boiling water… overflowing with foam bubbles…

Spot sighed at the thought as he knocked on Cat's door. One of her school friends answered.

"Heya Molly," Spot said. "Is Cat home?"

"Yes, Spot," she replied. "I'll go and fetch her."

Moments later, Cat came running.

"Spot, I--" she began.

"I know," Spot said with an uncomfortable shrug. "We had a little chat, Jack and I."

"And so?" She bit her lip, as if she was hoping for a certain answer.

Spot said nothing. She cocked her head at him, trying to guess what he was thinking with no luck.

"So, well…" Spot looked straight at her. It was another one of those moments, where he had to muster up all the strength in him towards self-control. He hated that.

But his body refused to listen. He found himself beginning to lean for her, toward her mouth… she could be his if he wanted to… right here, right now… she was so beautiful…

Brooklyn didn't seem to matter then. He wanted to do it so badly. She wanted it too. She closed her eyes and waited for it. She was practically inviting him.

But still he hesitated. Sure, if it looked bad, and if dear Howard saw them together he could send Spot straight to the refuge, and that meant Brooklyn, and the strike itself, would be done. They needed him. Spot couldn't risk jail, not now, not when things were going so well. But it wasn't really the fact that rich, jealous Howard was hanging that over his head… or that being with her would murder Spot's reputation in Brooklyn for this prissy little woman.

What really bothered Spot most was the fact that she made him lose control in the first place.

Spot was a bit angry with himself, since he imagined this moment between them going much differently. Not pulling himself away… again. God, he just wanted to grab her right there… He was so close to her mouth he could feel her warm breath… she wanted it like he did…

But no. He couldn't give it all up for a woman, no matter how wonderful she was, she was still a woman. The very thought scared him. To give up all he had earned? All he had worked for in his entire life? It was crazy. He couldn't do it, no matter what his feelings argued.

"Cat," Spot said, making her eyes flutter open. "I told you, I'm not gonna. It's not--"

"Right," Cat interrupted with a sigh. "Brooklyn."

Spot didn't defend himself. Cat felt the uncomfortable silence lingering, so she tried for a change of subject.

"So did you make the papers like Denton promised?" Cat said, sitting with him on the porch stoop.

"Yeah, listen," Spot said with a renewed excitement. "Denton came in, and there I be, right across the front!" He showed her the _Chicago Sun_ proudly. "The front page, no less! Pretty nice, eh?"

"You look quite handsome." Cat said agreeably.

"Here, you can have it," Spot said, handing the paper to her.

"Thank you!" she said gladly, turning the page and ignoring his picture completely. "I've been wanting to know what happened to those stocks…"

"Com'_on_…" Spot said, not in the mood for her games, but couldn't help smiling anyways. He put the page back to the front. "Right heah. I look so natural there, don't I?"

"You look lovely, Spot," she said with a sigh.

Spot looked at her.

"Whatsa mattah?" he asked with sincere concern.

"You want the truth?"

"That would be nice, yeah…"

"I really don't like this whole strike business, Spot," she said. Spot rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Com'on, Cat…"

"No, listen to me!" she begged. "You saw what happened to the trolley workers. You could go to jail, or get hurt, or even killed! I can't stand thinking about it…"

Spot was confused at the fact that she didn't understand. Didn't she realize Brooklyn always came first?

"Then that's a gamble I gotta be in, Cat. Too late go back now. They need me, and Brooklyn, you know that."

She sighed again. Spot studied her face for a moment, then went on.

"They have a rally on Friday," he said, scanning her face for any emotion. She didn't react, so he continued.

"I'm goin' to it. For Jack."

"Don't go, Spot," she quietly pleaded. "Too many of you in one place… you're just asking for trouble-- You'll all be put in jail!"

"I ain't gonna be put in jail," Spot said reassuringly. "I'm too clever for that."

She looked up at him and gave him a shaky smile.

"You're a hard man to care for, Spot."

-

**Reviews make my day. Long, glowing, helpful ones make my month.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	17. The Key Around His Neck 10

**Sorry, this story is going longer than I expected. I guess I have a lot to say! But please, stick with it; I have a point, I promise. It's a really good point too.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**

**-**

**Chapter 16 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 10 **_(continued)_

-

"They're gonna be playin' with _MY_ hands, alright?" Spot shouted to the little know-it-all novice newsie named David. Irving Hall was packed, bursting at the seams with newsboys supporting their cause.

Spot went on that stage on rally night with a set mind. Keep on striking as they were. Don't change a good thing, when fortune smiles on you. The David kid, who obviously fancied himself a smart one, didn't know a thing at all about life out here on the streets.

"Cuz it ain't what they say." Spot boomed. "It's what _we_ say. And nobody ain't gonna listen to us unless we make 'em!"

His Brooklyn boys shouted first, and the rest of the crowd joined in. Spot felt so natural talking to this crowd, speaking for many unheard voices. He was a born leader, who wasn't easily silenced.  
"Ya got no brains!" Jack shouted through the noise. "Why we startin' to fight each oddah? It's just what the big shot's wanna see! That we're street rats! Street rats with no brains! No respect for nottin', includin' ourselves! So, here's how it's gonna be. If we don't act together, then we're nottin'. If we don't stick together, then we're notttin'. And if we can't even trust each other, then we're nottin'."

"Tell 'em Jack!" Kid Blink shouted from the balcony, but like any good speaker, Jack acted like he didn't hear.

"So, what's it gonna be?"

Mumbles came from the crowd, but they all quickly agreed on one thing.

"We're with you Jack." Racetrack said the loudest. Then the room fell surprisingly calm. Jack went close to Spot, not meeting his eye.

"So, what do you say, Spot?" Jack said. He wanted Spot's approval, like a child to a father. Spot's authority was obvious, and Jack, like the street-smart guy he was, knew to tread carefully.

Spot looked around at the crowd. How quickly they wanted to follow Jack. Obviously Spot wasn't the only natural leader in this room. It irritated him. He looked at Jack harshly.

"_I_ say…" He said with a cold, mocking glare, tricking Jack into thinking he wasn't going to concede. "That what _you_ say…"

Then the frozen glare melted away, and a smile surfaced.

"Is what _I_ say…"

Cheers lifted the hall.

No one could ever know the bond between these two men, fighting a battle together willingly. One spit shake was a clue, getting the other newsboys to clap and cheer for their treaty, but only Jack and Spot could fully comprehend. It was Spot's turn to give up something for Jack, and he was giving up his authority, submitting to anything Jack had planned.

Things were how they should be, for once.  
Then the spotlight shined and the curtain parted. Medda emerged, looking beautiful as ever, and singing a familiar tune to lighten all spirits.

No more business to attend this night, they knew. Just time to have a good time. Spot got himself a drink and a seat and enjoyed himself.

"Hello newsies!" Medda said in her sweet Swedish way. "Vhat's new?"

_So your old lady don't love you no more  
So you're afraid there's a wolf at your door  
So you've got street rats that scream in your ear…  
_

_You win some, _

_You lose some, my dear!_

_Oh… high times, hard times_

_Sometimes the living is sweet_

_And… sometimes there's nothing to eat_

_But… I always land on my feet…_

Spot knew he should have realized something wasn't right, but he was having too much light-hearted fun to notice. Too wound up in the good things. It wasn't like him to be distracted. But when he watched Medda, and drank a few glasses until he started to feel it, his focus was parted. His thoughts even fell to Cat a few times, how he wished she was there enjoying herself too… or maybe slipping into one of Medda's stage dresses… His smile broke through at the imagery.

But he should have known it was coming, even Cat had known it…

Of all people, David was the one to see Snyder first.

"Spot," he said, leaning over. "You have to get out of here, it's the warden."

Spot didn't stick around to thank him, or respond at all. He was busy parting his way through the crowd, trying to warn his Brooklyn boys first. He wasn't going to bail. He'd risk jail for his boys, because they were loyal to him, and he was loyal to them. He had to at least warn them.

"Guys, it's the bulls!" Spot shouted when he got there, but the whistle was already starting to blow. "Cheese it, _now_!"

The Hall exploded in frenzy. Newsies raced in all directions, headed for their nearest exits. Spot started to leave with his boys, then stopped. Why was he running? For Cat? He signed up for this, and he wasn't about to just put his tail between his legs and go crying home. What was the worst they could do to him anyway? It's not like he could be put in jail for being at a rally.

"Go on without me!" Spot called to his gang. "Woods! Lead them out! I'm going back!"

But he looked over and Woodsy wasn't there. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Griff!" he called to the nearest trustworthy kid. "Get outta heah, I'm goin' back!"

"What?" Griffin said in confusion. "Spot!"

Spot sifted his way back through the crowd, heading towards Jack's boys. He went through another hall, where some boys were fighting a bunch of police. He grabbed at Skittery.

"Where's Jack?"

"What? Oh, I don't know…"

"Come 'ere, you!" a cop said, grabbing Spot's shirt. "You're coming with us."

"Like hell, I am," Spot said angrily.

"What did you sa--?"

But the policeman didn't finish his sentence, because he found a fist lodged in his face right then. It knocked his helmet clear off. Spot ran, as the policeman now chased him through the lobby. He arrived just in time to see Jack uppercutted under his chin, making him fly into a crowd of policemen, who immediately grabbed at him and held tight.

Spot's chest caved in at the sight. They had Jack. He was going to jail, and for a very long time too.

It was too late to do anything, so Spot went back to the hall, just in time to see around twenty-five of his Brooklyn boys being taken away in handcuffs, including Griffin. Another ten were being dragged out, having been knocked out by the police's nightsticks, no doubt.

Their world was falling. This was an ambush Spot hadn't been prepared for, and now his half-starving Brooklynites were paying the price for his mistake. It crushed him like nothing else did. Some leader he was…

The one moment of distraction was all the police needed, and they stormed Spot from behind, shoving his face to the nearby wall. Two wasn't enough to hold him, so another had to come. Spot's anger was making him even stronger than usual. They tried to slap some cuffs on him, but Spot was too slippery. He wiggled free from the policemen's grasp, and ran up the first flight of stairs he saw.

"Get him!" He heard them call. When Spot saw more policemen coming down the stairs, and realized that he was trapped, then he stopped running. He lost his will for it. Slowly, Spot turned and looked one more time at the other newsies down in the lobby. The crowd was a big mess, most of it still revolving around Jack. Mush, Snoddy, Pie-Eater, and Kid Blink were only a few of who he saw being escorted outside in cuffs. It was over.

The policeman threw Spot into the stair floor hard, grabbing his hands and slapping cuffs on him before he could slip away again. Spot didn't fight them. He lost his will for that too. He was done.

He wondered to himself as they led him down the stairs, why Cat's face came to his mind when it was so filled with gloom. It seemed the only thing he could think of was how mad she was going to be when she heard about this. This is exactly what she didn't want to happen. This was when worse came to worse. This is exactly what _nobody_ wanted to happen.

But it just did.

-

Spot looked out the barred window of the jail carriage, not wanting to look at any of the other boys. He didn't want to see his own defeat reflected in all of their eyes. Jack was taken separately, for some reason, and wasn't among them.

Spot watched as the first of the dawn come up over the buildings of New York. It was so beautiful in the midst of the ugliness. Through the window he could see the quaint little building on the corner. A line of girls were just coming out the door, wearing matching little flat straw hats and black dresses. He noticed Cat was with them. He met her eyes for just a moment as the carriage passed. Spot tried to hide his face, but the damage had already been done. She had seen him in the jail wagon… He just knew it.

-

That same morning, they took the boys out of the carriage and straight to the courthouse. Spot's boys were among many at the courthouse gate waiting, along with Denton and that annoying kid named David.

"All rise, all rise," said the court bailiff. "Court is now in session. Judge E. A. Monahan presiding."

The judge impatiently sat in his chair, and went straight to business.

"Are any of you represented by council?" the judge asked.

Everyone looked around to see if anyone would raise their hand. Spot could bet money that half of them didn't even know what council was.

"No," the judge said decidedly. "Good, good, that will move things along considerably."

Spot frowned. He felt like he knew this man, saw him at a snooty party once, maybe. At any rate, Spot knew how he _should_ speak to a judge, but he couldn't help his rebellious nature… And somehow, this whole situation seemed wrong.

"Hey, your honor, I object," Spot said boldly.

The judge seemed slightly annoyed.

"On what grounds?" he asked slowly and clearly, like he was talking to a toddler.

Spot then realized that he didn't have a leg to stand on. They had all incited a riot, and most had attacked officers. So Spot joked his way out.

"On the grounds o' Brooklyn, your honor."

The others snickered and finally broke out in laughter. Even Spot couldn't fight a smile at his own cleverness. This did not please the judge one bit.

"I fine each of you five dollars, or two weeks confinement in the House of Refuge."

That wiped the smiles off of all their faces fast.

"What?" They whispered amongst themselves. Spot whispered over his shoulder at Mush.

"He said five bucks?" He said, just to be sure he had heard right. The look on Mush's face made him realize it was true.

"This sucks." Spot finished, just as Racetrack spoke for them all.

"Whoa, whoa… Hey, we ain't got five bucks. We don't even got five cents! Your honor," --Race glanced at Spot-- "how 'bout I roll you for it, double or nottin'?"

Everyone laughed again. Spot could imagine they were really getting on the judges nerves now.

"Alright, move along, move along…" the judge said, motioning them away.

Then Denton was let through.

"Your honor!" he called. "I'll pay the fines. All of them."

Spot couldn't believe his ears. No jail? It lifted his spirits and attitude towards Denton considerably.

"Hey guys, you alright?" David said, as he was let through too. He immediately asked for Jack. He was ignored, since no one knew the answer.

"Look, we got to meet at the restaurant," Denton said. "Everybody. We have to talk."

Spot nodded his agreement, but didn't realize then that he had spoken too soon.

"Pay the clerk, move it along!" the judge boomed.

"Hey fellahs!" Jack said as they brought him in as a separate case.

"Hey, Cowboy!" Racetrack called. "Nice shinah!"

It made everyone laugh again. But then Spot's attention fell to the crowd outside the door. One girl had pushed her way to the front. In the midst of the rush and bustle, she was the only one who stood still. Their eyes met, and an entire conversation was exchanged between them. Cat's face expressed sorrow, and mourning, as if a person she knew just had passed away and she was still in the shock of it all. She was sad for _him_.

"Pat the clerk, move it along." The judge said again.

"Hey, Denton," he heard Jack say. "I guess we made all the papes this time. So, how's my picture look?"

"None of the papers covered the rally. Not even the Sun."

Spot heard this, and his face fell, and he stopped fighting the crowd to see Cat, and left with the others in shame. Denton had given in. He was no longer going to help them, and they all knew it.

"Case of Jack Kelly." The bailiff announced. "Inciting a riot. Assault. Resisting arrest."

That was the last Spot heard before he was let out.

-

**Boring chapter, yes. Needed to be here. More when I feel you are ready. This story is already almost finished on my computer, so it isn't a question of when I write more. It all depends on you guys! So please review.**

**Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	18. The Key Around His Neck 11

**Happy Valentines Day everyone! Here's a new chapter as my love present to you all…**

**-**

**Chapter 17 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 11 **_(continued)_

-

Spot stepped outside the courthouse with the rest of the newsies, and Cat came to him immediately.

"Spot…" was all she could say.

"Meet me outside Tibby's," Spot commanded her. "That's where we're goin'."

She nodded, and Spot went on with the others.

Once at the restaurant, Spot waited angrily with the rest of the boys, wondering where Denton was. Spot ordered a pop, and when he was finished Denton still wasn't around. He was done waiting for him.

"I ain't stayin'," Spot announced. "I'm done waitin' for that backstabbin' press weasel."

"Are you leaving the strike behind, Spot?" David said worriedly.

"Naw," Spot said, taking a last swig of his drink before he went. "I'm stinkin' it through for Jack. Nobody else."

They nodded, and Spot went to the door, just as Denton was entering.

"I ain't got nottin' to say to you," Spot snapped as he passed Denton. Spot passed like he didn't even see him, not even meeting his eye.

"I understand," he heard Denton say obligingly.

He gripped his cane in thought, walking down the road alone, heading back for the lodging house to meet his boys and show them he was all right. They might be surprised that he wasn't in jail, but then again, so was Spot. As he walked down the road, parting his way through the crowded streets, he spied a familiar face.

"Hey, Cat!" Spot called, then ran to her. He had forgotten he was supposed to meet her at Tibby's. Good thing she was just heading there now, or he might have missed her.

It was when he came closer when he realized that she was crying, and her puffy cheeks, red eyes and nose told that she had been for a while too.

"I thought you were being sent to jail," she sniffed. "I thought--"

"Hey, look," Spot said, wiping the wet off her face. "Stop that cryin' right now, it's embarrassin'. I ain't goin' to jail. Not even if I'm _sent_ to jail am I goin' to jail. You heah me?"

She nodded. Her face required immediate pity, and it aroused so much in Spot. He tried to hold back from giving too much, from going soft, but he longed to hold her until she stopped. To take care of her until she took him for granted. To just make her smile. God, he loved her smile. So when she was upset like this, it made him want to do anything to make her world right again.

"Jack's in the coop right now," Spot explained, clawing at anything to say to encourage her. "But if I know him, he'll be out by day after tomorrah, three days tops. As long as he and I are in this togethah, they can't win. They can't break us, alright?"

She nodded again.

"I just…" she began, then small drops fell from the corner of her eyes again, and Spot gave up trying to dry her eyes.

"I scared ya; I understand," Spot said receptively. "Ain't happenin' again."

She sniffed and put her chin up, as if she was trying to be strong.

"Spot, I came to tell you…"

"What, Cat, what?" He put his face close to hers to make sure she met his eye.

Then it dawned on him that she might not be upset about him, it was probably something else…

"Spit it out," he commanded with sudden worry.

"Spot… he's wants me to leave with him."

"Wh- _what_? That rich guy?"

She nodded once more.

"He wants to go where it's flourishing so his oil business can spread. He's going out west and he wants me to go with him."

She spoke in an embarrassed tone, almost apologetic. She was almost regretful. Spot took several steps away from her, a confused look on his face.

"So that's it?" Spot said accusingly. "Because _they_ all want ya to, off ya go?"

"It's not like that."

"So it's about the _money_ then? You'd rather have money than me?"

She bit her lip and didn't speak for a moment.

"I… I can't live on love, Spot."

That hurt. It wasn't really the fact of how she said them, but it was reality of the words themselves. She was right. But yet, he still fought for her. He didn't even hesitate. And he didn't know why.

"But at least with love you'll live _happy_," Spot argued. "We can work on the rest latah. You and I both know ya don't wanna be with this guy. What's his name? Howard? You play piano for _him_?"

She shook her head no, tears falling quite freely now.

"I can't wait anymore…" She said. Spot was confused, not knowing what that meant.

"Do ya like me or not?" Spot said harshly. "God, foist Jack, now me, and Howard too? What are you trying to pull?"

"It's not like that!" she bellowed, so that people walking by started to stare. "Don't ever think that I don't _love_ you! You are the _only_ man I have ever felt this way for! I have _always _loved you… and only you."

Spot rolled his eyes.

"So why can't you just _stay_ with me?" Spot insisted, his voice raising.

"Spot, for how much I like you, how much I think of you, how much you consumed my mind every day for the past seven _years_… I'm not convinced you feel the same for me. I've heard how you treat girls lately…"

"From who?"

She sighed and looked away from his harsh eyes.

"One of your boys," she admitted. "Do you love me, Spot? Or am I just a conquest to you?"

"So what, this is some sort a' test? Then I'll pass it right now. I want ya to stay, Cat. I love ya and I want ya to stay. Is _that_ what ya wanna hear?"

"You love Brooklyn," she said boldly.

Spot was silent for a moment, at her audacity. Of course he loved Brooklyn. It was his life, his home, his sanctuary. He had worked hard for it, earned it. He was a good leader, maybe the best they had ever known. There he was respected, feared…

"I want you to love me like you love that awful city," she went on. "Until then, I'll wait. I've waited this long, after all…"

Spot had a flash then, a memory of the time he had spoken to Jack about this.

_The day I fall for a woman…_ _Will be the day I give up all _this_…_ _She's got the only key to me heart…_

It was like prophesy. The day had come where he had to choose.

"So _that's_ the test," Spot said with a decided nod. "Ya want me to give up Brooklyn for ya. Go follow ya out west."

He went close to her face, as to make sure she heard him clearly.

"Ain't… gonna… happen. Get that through your cute little head right now. Look, I like ya and all… a _lot_, don't get me wrong. But I can't _do_ that. They need me here."

"You gave up Brooklyn freely for Jack …"

"It's not the same and ya know it. Jack didn't ask me to give up me boys."

"But he did! Every day I see them starving because they aren't working, not making money to live! _You_ did that to them, Spot! And I understand that you did it out of loyalty to Jack. What I can't understand is… why can't you do the same for me? The question is, do you even know what love _is_? And if so, is that how you feel for me?"

He didn't answer, falling deep in his thoughts, so she turned away, in disappointment. All she was trying to do was make him tell her he loved her, and he knew it. She was forgetting that it wasn't his way. He couldn't just to lay all the cards on the table, bear his soul for all to see…

But it pained him to hold it back. He _did_ want to confess it, surprisingly. He had to try extra hard to keep the poker face this time. He was losing it again. Losing his control. He wanted to hold her until the end of it all… He even considered kidnapping her right then and there. But still he stood paralyzed, just staring long and hard, thinking carefully on what she was saying. He _didn't_ know if this was love or lust. Was he ready for this? Though he knew, whenever he was near her, his heart pounded straight through his ribcage, and she brought out a nervousness in him whenever he spoke, making him consider his words carefully. Never had a girl done that to him before. That was all different for him. But was it _love_? He knew he needed more time to figure it out, and she couldn't leave until he could.

He grabbed her chin to look her in the eye again.

"Look, I ain't gonna beg…" he said decidedly.

She pulled her head from his touch and began to walk away.

"Alright, fine…" Spot said, giving in. He never thought he'd ever be this desperate for a girl. "Com'on, Cat. Just stay."

She didn't speak. Just kept walking.

"Cat… please…"

She stopped. Looked over her shoulder.

"Howard's waiting," she said silently. "We leave in a week."

"Don't do this," Spot pressed. "Com'_on_…"

"We're going to Monterrey, California. If you ever decide to follow, that's where I'll be."

"I can't leave them in the middle of the strike, Cat. That's like treason or somethin'. I can't ever leave. I belong here."

"Promise you'll at least come and visit before I go."

Spot nodded, sighing loudly, knowing her mind was made up.

"Sure. Fine."

So she left. In the midst of the crowd and bustle, she left Spot never feeling more alone. He sighed again, mad at her, but mostly at himself.

"Stay with me, Cat, _please_!" said a voice behind him that sounded an awful lot like Racetrack. Spot turned around, and every one of Jack's boys were smiling and snickering at Spot.

"Don't go, com'on, Kitty!" Kid Blink said. "I love you more than life itself!"

"Shut up, all of youse," Spot commanded coolly. "Or I'll soak ya each in turn."

"Yeah right…" Snoddy challenged. So Spot gripped his cane and took several threatening steps toward them. All of them, in unison, abruptly jumped back, away from him.

"Com'on," Spot said, deciding they weren't worth the time and energy, and he put his cane back into his belt-loop sheath. "Let's get outta heah."

"We're gonna get Jack out tonight," David explained. "You in?"

"Naw, I'm gonna go rustle up me boys. They gotta be hangin' around somewheres."

"Alright," David said, giving him a pat on the back. "Meet you by distribution tomorrow then."

"Alright," Spot agreed. He walked off, deep in thought over this stupid girl. Why did she insist on playing with him? Of course Brooklyn was more important than her. His priorities were fine. What was wrong with being second? That was saying a lot when it came to Spot. She was even before Jack. Jack ran a close third, for sure, but she was still second. Well, maybe she was third… Jack and her tied maybe…

Spot spent the rest of his walk convincing himself that his priorities were fine, but somehow still couldn't believe it.

She wanted him to follow her… all the way out west. It just wasn't going to happen. It wasn't plausible, it wasn't reasonable… He knew his place, and that was on the grounds of Brooklyn, nowhere else. His life was built here, and he couldn't just go uproot himself to go after one little girl. He had too many other factors that held him here.

Jack was definitely a big one.

-

The next morning, Spot went straight to the office to meet the others. They were already there, screaming their chant that David had told them.

_Stop the World!_

_No more papes!_

So Spot and his boys just joined right in.

Soon the newspaper wagon left the gate, much to their dismay. Soon the Brooklyn boys were skirmishing with the Manhattan boys, and out of David's control. David was no leader. Everyone was just wondering the same thing. Where was Jack? David promised he'd be here, but didn't deliver. And now the wagon had gotten away, ready to deliver papers to the other scabbers. They had failed to stop it, and they were angry.

David frantically tried to stop the fighting, but Spot just let it happen.

"Please help me, I need some help!" David yelled at Racetrack.

"Alright! I ain't deaf!" Racetrack replied.

Spot noticed a couple kids fighting and decided to hell with it. It was one thing for the older ones to fight, but the eight-year-olds needed to be stopped.

"Hey, hey!" Spot said as they were pulled apart. "Break it up, break it up."

That's when he saw it. That one ghastly sight that should never have been seen by anyone. Spot's world came crashing down, and his heart began to speed up. His eyes had to be lying… It couldn't be true…

"Hey, hey, Race!" Spot said, trying to get Racetrack's attention. "Come here."

"What?" But no sooner had Race said that, when he saw the dreaded sight too.

"Tell me I'm seein' things," Spot commanded with a shaky stutter. "J-just tell me I'm seein' things."

"Naw, you ain't seein' things," Racetrack said blatantly. "That's Jack. What's he doin'?"

"But he's dressed like a scabbah!" Spot insisted.

And so Jack was. Spot couldn't believe his eyes. They had to be lying to him.

While Spot drowned in shock, the others each had their turn trying to talk sense into Jack.

"Jack, look at me, will ya? Com'on, Jack, it's me, Mush! Look at me, what're ya doin', Jack?"

Their words reflected Spot's thoughts exactly.

"This ain't happenin'." Kid Blink said in disbelief. "This can't be happenin'--What're ya doin', Jack?"

"Hey what is this?" Boots called. "Where'd you get them clothes?"

As if they all didn't know…

"Mr. Pulitzer picked them out hisself!" Weasel explained. "A special gift, to a _special_ new employee."

Spot felt his anger level rise to maximum. A volcano was boiling in him, just waiting to erupt. It _was_ happening. Jack had done the unthinkable.

"_What_?" Kid Blink said in wonder.

"He sold us out!" Spot shouted for all to hear. Jack refused to meet Spot's eye. He knew exactly what he had done to Spot. To Brooklyn. He had sent them all to hell, spitting in their face on their way down into the flames.

"Look at him in his little suit." Racetrack said, obviously furious too. "Ya bum! I'll soak ya!"

"Hey, hey, hey." Spot said, pulling Race out of his way but Race insisted on getting in one final say.

"Ya fink!"

"Enough!" Spot pressed. "Let me get _my_ hands dirty."

With that Spot lunged into the policemen, shouting:

"Come 'ere, ya dirty rotten scabbah!"

It took two policemen to hold him back, and five more of the newsboys to drag him away. Jack put his head down, not meeting Spot's eye. Spot was the one who got to him the most, and they both knew it.

"Com'on, I'll take ya!" Spot fought them the whole way.

"I'll murder ya!" he shouted. "I'll _murder_ ya!"

Spot was far from done. They had to take him all the way to the back of the crowd so that he wouldn't be arrested for assault.

"Hey Spot! Okay!" the boys tried to reason with him, but Spot had gone deaf in anger.

"Ya dirty _rat_!"

"Hey Spot, com'on!"

"_Traitor_!"

Spot saw then that David was going to talk to him, and stopped shouting to listen. He pushed his way back to the front, and glared at Jack with fire in his eyes.

The two stepped away from Weasel and everyone, and spoke silently between them for several moments.

"_Money_, you understand?" Jack suddenly shouted at David. "As soon as I collect, I'm gone, I'm away, alright?"

"That's good. That's good, because we don't need you!" David replied boldly. "_We don't need you_!"

They had a silent exchange for a few moments more, then David began to walk away. David glanced at all their angry faces for a moment, then turned back to Jack, who was nodding his way, as a challenge.

"What you gonna do 'bout it, Dave?" Spot heard Jack mumble. That's when David tried to lunge. Weasel offered David a suit of his own, but he wouldn't have it, shouting "Never!" in his face.

Then the police led Jack away, shoving the boys all aside.

"You ruined me!" Spot shouted as Jack passed. "You're a dead man, heah me! Your head's gonna _roll_!"

"You make me sick!" the others shouted with him.

"Look at yourself, huh?"

"I trusted you!"

"Seize the day, huh, Jack?"

"Maybe he's foolin' 'em," Les said. "So he can spy on 'em or somethin'."

Racetrack rolled his eyes, and Spot sighed in defeat.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it!" Les insisted. "He's foolin' 'em!"

Spot frowned and patted the kid on the back, giving in to the downfall of the strike.

"Sure, kid," Spot said, letting the little one believe what he wanted to.

"Yeah, he's spyin' on 'em, kid," Racetrack said, doing the same.

As far as Spot was concerned, it was all over. He could wipe his hands clean of them all, and just walk away.

"Com'on boys," he said to his Brooklyn gang in deep disappointment. "Let's go home."

"You're just gonna leave?" David asked him in concern.

"_Yeah_," he said like David was asking a stupid question. "I got into this for Jack, and now there _ain't_ no more Jack. So I'm gone."

David's fallen face made Spot give him a pat on the shoulder.

"You gotta know when it's done, Dave," he said grimly.

"It isn't done!" David insisted, grabbing Spot's sleeve. "Spot, we have to press on! We can do this without him! Do you really want them to _win_?"

"No, _you_ have to press on. _You _do it without him. Me and me boys have had enough. We're goin' back across the Bridge. Where we _belong_."

With that Spot turned his back to them, feeling only remorse for Racetrack and the others, but Jack could bleed until he went dry, for all Spot cared. It was over. He had given up Cat for Jack, and now Jack had betrayed him.

God, he missed Cat already.

-

**So here's how it works: I give you story, you give me review. Glad we have an understanding.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	19. The Key Around His Neck 12

**Chapter 18 **

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 12 **_(continued)_

-

Spot sat on his bed, his back against the headboard, staring at the wall in front him. He had set up the newspaper with all the newsies on the cover, the one with the headline of _Newsies Stop the World_. The one that had brought them and Denton all together. The one that made them feel on the top of the world, that they actually had a chance to win this war. He held his slingshot in his hand, and a handful of gravel in the other. He hit Jack's face every time.

Downstairs he could hear his boys celebrating their return to Brooklyn. Spot didn't join them. There was nothing to celebrate. They had lost. They were all fools, who tomorrow would realize they had nothing left, not even food in their stomachs. And it was all Jack's fault. Spot sighed and shot through the hole where Jack's face used to be in the paper once more. In one day he had lost everything: His best friend, the war against the big shots, Brooklyn's faith in him, and…Cat. And the worst part is, they were all beyond his control. He hated it when he lost control. The only thing left to do was drink it away. So he took another swig of his beer.

"Hey, Spot," Woodsy said, knocking on the door as he came in the room. "Youse comin' out anytime soon? Youse been in here all day and night. The boys were just goin' out to get some girls to join in."

"They sell out?" Spot said grimly, glancing at Woodsy for only a moment.

"Yeah, we sold papes today. They paid us a dime extra each, too."

"You too, huh?"

Woodsy looked at the floor.

"Well, yeah, seein' as youse said we was done an' all."

"We _are_ done. I ain't accusin' you of nottin'… relax."

"So youse wanna come, or not?" Woodsy pressed. "We'll save ya the prettiest one…"

"No. You should know that by now."

Spot fired again, and began to make a hole in the wall behind the paper.

"Youse still playin' sterile for that little schoolgoil?"

Spot shot Woodsy a harsh glare, and lingered on it.

"Go away, Woods. You're botherin' me."

"She's changin' youse, Spot," Woodsy insisted bravely. "All the boys see it. Ya ain't the same guy."

"So just because I don't wanna have promiscuous intercourse with stupid harlots I don't know, much less care for, means I'm goin' soft? Sorry for feelin' just a little bit upset that we just lost _EVERYTHING_ we've been fighting for, and it don't exactly put me in the _mood_ to entertain a stupid whore! Get outta my face, Woods, and shut up."

"You used to. Now that schoolgoil won't have you back anyway."

Spot turned back to him slowly, his eyes flaming.

"What did you say?" he challenged, daring him to repeat it.

"I, uh…"

"_YOU'RE_ the one that told her I go around beddin' girls and then leavin' them out cold, aren't you?"

"Spot--"

Spot may have been even more drunk than he thought, because he grabbed the rocks and began to fire away at Woodsy without mercy. Woodsy yelled and closed the door after himself very quickly.

Spot readily went back to thinking and drowning in his own sorrows. Were they right? Was Cat changing him? Somehow, he felt it was true. She did make him want to be a better man. Now he knew she had been told lies from his own right hand too. And with that, she was leaving.

"To Monterrey, California," Spot said aloud. "What the hell's in Monterrey, California?"

Not him, that's for sure. She was going _away_ from him. As far away as possible too. Might as well say she was leaving to China.

He couldn't let her leave without saying goodbye. He had to see her.

-

He spent all night walking. By the time he made it there, the sun had already risen. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. In fact, he hadn't for many days. His head throbbed because of the drinks he had on an empty stomach, and he hoped he wasn't still blazing drunk. Maybe the walk had worked it off a little. He _seemed_ like he was walking straight…

He looked up and found himself on Cat's stoop. The door opened and Cat's friends began to walk out in a straight line like they always did, but stopped when they noticed him at the bottom. Cat was not among them.

"Cat!" one girl called. "Another newsboy is here to see you!"

"Honestly," another girl whispered to the one standing nearest her. "You buy one paper from them and they just keep coming back like dogs to food."

Spot smirked to hide his offense at the comment. If only those snooty girls knew what it was like… Just one _day_ out there…

"Spot?" Cat said, stepping out of the house and rushing to him. "What are you doing here? You're filthy, look at you."

Her nose scrunched up.

"You smell something awful. What happened?"

"It's ovah, Cat. The strike's done for Brooklyn. Jack turned scab."

"Oh my goodness…" Cat said in surprise.

"Catherine, do you _know_ this young man?" Miss Gray boomed from the top of the stoop.

"Yes, Miss Gray, he's a friend."

Miss Gray glared at Spot, almost like she recognized him, but seemed to put the thought aside.

"Well, tell him you don't have time for chatter. We must be off, and Cat, you have to go inside."

"Spot, I'm so sorry about Jack," Cat said seemingly ignoring Miss Gray.

"Go ahead and say 'I told ya so'," Spot said. "Ya deserve it."

"I'm not going to kick you when you're down, Spot."

"Catherine!" Miss Gray called impatiently.

"I have to go inside," Cat said apologetically to Spot.

"Hey, hey, don't," Spot said, grabbing her hand. Again, more drunk than he had originally thought. "Don't go. You'll be gone soon enough for my liking. Just stay for now."

"Catherine!" Miss Gray said, stomping back up to Cat and grabbing her other hand. "May I remind you that you are officially _engaged_? And that your fiancée is still waiting for you _inside_? It is not proper to be having private conversations with strange boys. Especially of _that_ kind."

Her nose scrunched too.

"You smell like beer, boy. They drink younger and younger these days. Do they let you have opium too? Dear God. Be thankful child," she said to Cat. "That I found you when I did. You might be hanging around with _that_ kind of miscreant. Now, do come along."

She pulled Cat away, and Cat held onto Spot's hand as long as she could before the distance parted them.

"I'm sorry," Cat said. "I really am."

"Cat…"

"Miss Gray, it's all quite fine," said a raspy voice from the door. "She can have a moment with her young friend. I'll look after her while you are away."

"Very well, Mr. Sinclair," Miss Gray replied. "Have it your way. Come along, girls."

The line of girls continued on down the street, one of them smiling Spot's way and winking.

Spot smirked. Girls.

The man stepped out into the sunlight. He was an elderly fellow, sporting a short cape, cane and top hat.

"Spot, this is Howard," Cat gulped. "Howard, Spot Conlon."

Spot realized that this was the rich man she was leaving with, and looked at him in a new perspective. This old pompous fellow was Spot's competition. The thought, and maybe the beer, made Spot laugh out loud.

"I do say!" the old man said. "What is so funny?"

Even so, Spot wasn't stupid, and began to inconspicuously button his shirt over the key.

"Howard, nice to meet ya."

"You as well, Mr. Conlon," he said, shaking Spot's hand. "Ugh…" Howard looked at the dirt now on his white glove with bother.

"Well, if I may," Howard went on with a smile and a tip of his hat. "Steal Cat away from you?"

Spot's eyes narrowed and anger came quickly.

"Like _hell_, you will--!"

"Spot!" Cat said, grabbing his shoulder. "He means for a private moment's _talk_…?"

"Oh, then… then, sure," Spot said, loosening his grip on his cane. "Go ahead."

Even still, he kept a close eye on Howard. He was old and fat, and Spot knew he could soak him in a second's time if needed. He waited for a better reason.

The man was old enough to be her father, grandfather even. His salt-and-pepper hair was balding imminently, with pockmarks scattering the shiny edge of his forehead. His wrinkles were deep and his skin sagged. The sight sickened Spot, knowing this man would kiss this pretty young girl. Have _children_ with her. He tried to stop thinking about it, as his stomach began to churn on the mental pictures.

Cat nodded to Howard as a reply to whatever he had just told her, and Howard kissed her on the cheek and went inside. Cat stepped down to Spot.

"Why in the world did you do that?" she said harshly. "Laugh, I mean?"

"Look at him, Cat!" Spot said with a chuckle. "You're going to spend the rest of your life with _that_?"

"Stop your laughing this instant! Yes, he may be slightly older than me, maybe a couple, er, score or so, but he's a sweet man, which is more than I could say honestly about _you_, Mr. Conlon."

"Oh, call me _Spot_, ya dope. A few years ago we was equals. Ya get a bit of schoolin' and suddenly ya think you're bettah than me? And don't give me that 'he's so sweet' gag. You're not marryin' _him_, you're marryin' his money."

She glared at him, and Spot felt slight remorse for his harsh comments.

"It's time for me to go," she said with an upset tone. "Howard's a very jealous man."

Spot nodded, and studied her eyes for what emotion she was having. It was a mixture of many, it seemed.

"He was just telling me now, that we're leaving sooner than planned…" she explained. "Tomorrow. I think he found out about you… and what I gave you…"

Spot frowned at the news, still feeling the chilly touch of the silver key dangling underneath his shirt. The icy wind still made the metal cold against his skin. He spied Howard looking through the curtain of a nearby window. She wasn't lying when she said he was a jealous man…

Spot got lost in thought. She didn't love Howard; he just knew it. It wasn't fair for her to go off with this man she didn't love… she was supposed to be with Spot…

But no matter what he tried to convince himself with, Spot knew, with that man, at least she would be taken care of. She'd live comfortably. He'd give her more than Spot ever could in three lifetimes. She was used to a snug little bed at night and food on a plate. What could Spot give her? A rat infested, drafty old lodging house and a loaf of stale bread a day. There was a big difference. Sure, he knew she'd do it if just told her that's what he really wanted, told her he really _did_ need her with him…

But it wasn't the right thing to do, and Spot knew it. That thought hurt too. It wasn't about Brooklyn anymore… because now he realized he'd give up anything to have her, even his beloved city… It was about what was _best_ for her. He even went as far as to remember his promise to Mrs. Barrenger. He had swore he'd take care of her. This was the best way he could.

And Spot had to admit, Howard had a kindly face and seemed to dote on Cat greatly. On top of the fact that he was painfully rich, and always would be, it made him an all right catch. That thought hurt too.

An uncomfortable silence came for a few moments while Spot dwelled on all this. He looked at her again, glaring straight into her brown eyes. Like many, she crumbled under his silver stare, and her gaze fell to the floor. She was so innocent, so patient. So kind. Everything he wasn't. He loved it. It was his last chance to speak to her. What words could he possibly say?

"Cat…" he said finally. "You're so…"

She bit her lip and blushed already, even though he hadn't said anything yet.

"So… what?" she said encouraging him onward.

Spot closed his mouth, not being able to decide on a word. Basically everything wonderful bundled up in one human being, but somehow, that still didn't seem like enough to describe her. He didn't want to scare her either, or make it seem like he was going…

Soft.

His damn pride stepped in again. Paying her a compliment might seem like he was going soft. He hated that instantly. He was as far from soft as they came. He was leader of Brooklyn. The leader didn't need a broad in his way did he?

He frowned. Yeah, this leader did…

"Dammit," he muttered. "You're too pretty for your own good."

"Umm… thank you," she said quietly, just like she used to when she was little. She blushed again too.

"So what is _wrong_ with you?" Spot said harshly. She looked up in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

So much anger surfaced in his voice, so much aggravation. It was like he had it bottled up for so long… and he was finally letting it go. He might as well too. Not like he was going to get another chance.

"Why do you like me so damn much? _Me_! Look at me! Why?" Spot threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Why do you put up with me? Why do you _INSIST_…on… _liking_ me? I'm not some God a' Brooklyn… I'm _close_… but not quite. Can't you just stop already?"

"Why do you insist on _not_ liking me?" she replied without hesitation. "Why do fight it so hard? Do you think it will make you weak?"

Spot thought about that, but she wasn't done.

"Do you think I'll hurt you? I won't."

"God, Cat!" Spot said, looking to the darkening sky. "I don't want to do this! I just don't _want_ to be in love. I ain't some guy whose gonna hang on your every need, or settle down, buy a house, have kids. It's just _not_ who I am. You don't _get_ it. You want me to be this wonderful someone I'm not. I ain't nevah gonna be him. You just have to accept--!"

Spot put this head down and sighed, stopping his speech abruptly. This time, it was Cat who lifted his chin.

"But you want to be," Cat guessed. "Don't you?"

Spot said nothing in reply, just pasted on his cold, blank expression. How did she do that? How could she just see into his soul like that? It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry I tried to make you choose between me and Brooklyn," Cat said. "That's not fair to you."

"I'm sorry I tried to make you choose too," Spot said sadly. "We're both in the places we're meant for, Cat. We should keep it that way."

She nodded sadly. She knew he was right, but she didn't like it any more than he did.

"I guess…" Cat said, her eyes falling to the ground. "I guess this is goodbye… then?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Spot agreed. "I… I, uh…"

He paused, and stared right at her, pushing the stupid pride away.

"I love you, Cat."

She seemed surprised, but nodded in acceptance.

He kissed her hand, tried his best to smile encouragingly, then let her go. He took a deep breath, and pulled himself back. It pained him to do so. Then he left her there, on the stoop.

He looked back once, stopping for just long enough to get a good look. A breeze was coming, blowing her chocolate curls in her face. She just stared, standing completely still, watching him leave. Thunder cracked overhead, warned of an imminent storm coming. But still their gaze was not broken.

"You'd better get inside," Spot warned. "Looks like rain."

They stared for only a moment more, but it felt like hours. Finally, Spot willed himself to pull away, and go.

The winds picked up some more, blowing away some of the mist, but still he felt soft sprinkles on his face. Then it came harder in larger drops, thoroughly soaking him from head to toe. He and his emotions matched the weather around him: Cold, dark, and… wet. He knew that wasn't just the rain making his eyes damp.

He walked home that night with a part of him missing. He had left it behind with her. He fingered the key around his neck. It was the only thing he had left of her.

-

**All right, you know what to do, I think. If you don't then…you're just dumb like that. Hey, don't be dumb! Push the little purple button. NOW.**

**Thanks.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	20. The Key Around His Neck 13

**Chapter 19**

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 13 **_(continued)_

-

(To tune of **_Santa Fe_**)

-

_So that's the man she's meant for  
Some money, a suit an' tie…  
Guess that compared to him I must look  
Second rate…_

_So I'm not the man she's meant for  
I know I'll nevah be that way  
So why ain't I glad somebody can bless her with  
Good fate?_

_But when I'm with her  
I am home  
There is something warm about her  
I will only scream it louder by the day_

_But she will soon be leavin'  
And here is where I'll stay  
But I can't help wishin' to go with her  
Anyway…_

_And we'd kiss  
In foreign lands  
And we'll hold our hands togethah  
In a feeling time will nevah take away_

It was a spell in that piano  
and she had me when she played  
I fell for you  
that much is true  
Now lady stay

How can I stand to live my life without 'er?  
How can I stand my only heart to break?  
Why can't she evah just say what she's thinkin'?  
Why can't she evah swim when she's sinkin'…?

Do I have to believe it's true love  
Even through that smile  
Her eyes keep tellin' me somethin' else in her

I swear on Heaven a-bove  
Even if it ain't my style  
With every step and every breath I swear I'll make it worth her while…  


_Interlude…_

_  
Now lady stay  
Don't leave me here  
I want you near always to me  
And all I have's a city in my way_

I ain't hidin' any longah  
And before your weddin' day  
Consider me  
This broken man  
All I want is just one single chance  
Then I can be  
Mr. Romance…

So that's the man she's meant for  
Maybe I can be that way  
Maybe I can be the man to  
Make her stay…

Spot went into his lodging house that night with a heavy heart. He was lost forever to this woman. Everything around him felt empty and meaningless. He felt like he had no purpose, no future. His life was being taken away.

This little girl from so long ago… he never realized what she meant to him until she was leaving.

He recalled how many times he caught her staring back then. How many times she would blush when he spoke to her. He had his chance, and he missed it, and now she was leaving his life again.

"Spot," Griffin said, running up to him with a worried look and loss of breath. "We've been lookin' all over town for ya. Ya have to come inside; it's bad! Real bad!"

Spot looked up to him with a look of mourning, of wanting nothing better than to be left alone.

"What's bad?" he said with a sigh.

"Word on the street is that someone ratted the rally the other night out to the bulls. Someone from Brooklyn, they say."

Spot's eyes narrowed. A rat in their midst? Someone had picked the wrong night to cause trouble. More bad news for Spot was far from welcome. Griffin backed off when he saw the murder in Spot's eyes.

"I can't deal wit' this tonight," Spot said. "I'll kill the bastard."

"It gets worse," Griffin said cautiously.

"What?"

"Peg-Leg saw a wad of cash in Woods's room. He don't think he got that from sellin' papes neither. I thought I'd tell you first."

With that, Spot shoved past Griffin and stormed inside the lodging house. Now was _not_ the time he wanted to be dealing with Brooklyn matters. He wanted to go drown his sorrow in many, many drinks. His anger rose high in annoyance, and his boys knew it. When Spot entered, it seemed all the boys became immediately alert and on edge. They sensed what was coming, for sure.

"Woods!" Spot called up the stairs. "Oh, Woodsy!" he sang ominously. "We need to chat! You had bettah haul your ass down heah!"

Spot heard a loud thumping noise, and a few more bumps. Spot wasn't stupid, so he raced up the stairs, and into Woodsy's room. He caught him just leaving to the fire escape, a large bag in hand.

"No, ya don't," Spot said as he grabbed him off the fire escape and back through the window. That is, _through_ the window. Glass shattered and went everywhere.

"You're coming with me, Woods," Spot said, dragging him down the stairs. His men just watched in silent fear. Spot headed through the foyer and out the front door, Woodsy howling in pain on every bump.

Down the road they went, with the others following. Short Spot dragged Woodsy's tall body all the way to the docks in his rage.

"It's very unfortunate for ya," Spot explained. "That I find out about this today. I've had a really lousy day, and it's put me in a helluva mood."

"I didn't rat on everyone, I swear!"

"Ah, Woods," Spot said as they neared the end of the pier. "I didn't say what youse were dyin' for yet. But since you now remind me that _both_ of us already know, I guess there's no need for that formality, huh?"

Spot held him over the edge of the pier.

"Luck is just abundant for youse today," Spot said with a mocking smile as he tied a rope around Woodsy's foot. "It's high tide!"

"Don't Spot!" Woodsy begged. "I didn't mean it! I was tricked, you see?"

Spot then tied the rope to a small anchor from a nearby boat.

"Lying is not one of your talents, I'm afraid," Spot admitted, staying eerily calm. "I'll tell your girl where to find ya in the morning. Ya still wit' Susan nowadays? I can't keep track…"

"Please, Spot! I'm beggin' ya! I don't wanna die!"

Woodsy's arms held onto Spot's for his dear life, as Spot held the anchor over the water.

"Just say your last words and die like a man," Spot said angrily. "You _are_ dyin'. You have to accept that, Woods."

"Please!"

"Too late," Spot said, letting the heavy anchor go.

Woodsy clawed at the air as he fell, groping like a blind man for something to save him.

Spot didn't realize it until it was too late, but he saw Woodsy's hand gripped the key around Spot's own neck as his saving grace, but the shoelace broke and he took the key with him in his fall.

Spot's eyes grew wide in surprise. The stinking _key_!

Without second thought, Spot dived after Woodsy into the water. It was like a punch to the chest, the water was so cold. It hurt to open his eyes, but Spot peeked just long enough to see Woodsy sinking fast, the key still clenched in his fist.

Spot was a powerful swimmer, and caught up to him fast, feeling around for his hand. Woodsy's other hand gripped on Spot's shirt, without a promise to let go if he could help it. Spot finally was able to pry the key from his fist blindly, and relief swelled over him.

But they were still sinking. The world was dark and Spot could already feel that nagging for air. He tried to hit Woodsy, and peel his fingers off, but the grip was firm.

Finally the nagging was too much to ignore. Panic began to set in.

Finally, Spot put his right foot to Woodsy's chest, and pushed off. The white and gray plaid shirt that Mrs. Barrenger had given him so long ago ripped in two. Spot didn't stop to dwell on it, just swam as hard as he could for the surface. He could see the moonlight through the water, and knew he was close. He grew weak in the cold and air became urgent quickly. For a moment he didn't know if he would make it, then his head felt the cool night air and oxygen was taken gluttonously in long breaths.

His boys helped him out of the water and back onto the dock. Spot looked down at his hand, and his prize. The stupid key. He had just risked his life for this damn thing and he didn't even know what it was for.

But even still, he retied the ends of the shoelace together and slipped it back over his head. After all, it had brought him good luck so far…

-

"Ya still mopin', Spot?" Griffin called up to Spot on his perch.

"What do you want?" Spot called downward with annoyance. Griffin was his friend, and an even better one since Woodsy was gone, but he still knew how to try Spot's last nerve. He was probably just still new at the job of second.

Spot looked down at Griffin with wonder. Griffin was green at leading, but he was smart and had a big sense of fairness. Spot couldn't help but think that Brooklyn might be okay in Griffin's hands… A thought that was quickly passed off.

"I wanted t' show ya somethin'," Griffin explained. "Come down."

Spot hopped off, and made his way down to him.

"What is it?"

"This came wit' the papes today. It's all ovah town. Everyone's readin' it."

"Let's see it."

Griffin handed him a single piece of paper, with a large bold print on top bearing the words:

**NEWSIES BANNER**

Spot read this while Griffin continued to talk.

"All a' Brooklyn's in a huff about it."

"They don't like what Manhattan's doin'?"

"Naw, they don't like what _Pulitzer's_ doin'. They want back in; can ya believe it?"

Spot frowned. This paper was not the Walking Mouth's idea, for sure. Jack was working for the newspaper, and it would only make sense that he had access to a newspaper maker. A printing press. This whole ordeal had his name all over it.

"Jack's back?" Spot asked just to be sure, frowning in deep thought.

"That's what they say," Griffin confirmed. "I told the others I'd take it up with youse."

Spot read the rest of the paper for a moment, then shoved Griffin aside. He climbed back to the top of his perch, which was the highest around, and shouted at his boys.

"You all read this?" he demanded.

They all looked to one another for a moment and mumbled amongst themselves with uncertainty.

"Yeah, Spot!" one shouted.

"You all angry again? Ready to jump back into the fight?"

This time they said it as one.

"Yeah!"

"What is the mattah with you? We's already been beat!"

"But Jack's back!" one named Tidbit shouted. "Maybe he _was_ just spyin' on 'em!"

Spot highly doubted that, but said nothing. He looked at the _Newsies Banner_ once more, and read the powerful words again.

Jack was back in it. Spot supposed he _did_ have a promise to keep: as long as Jack was in this, so was he. But it wasn't so easy to trust him. In fact, going back in this strike was the last thing Spot wanted to do. He didn't need any more grief.

But the looks of firm determination on all of his boy's faces made him reason differently. If they were so willing to trust him again, then he had no choice but to agree.

"I can't believe we're doin' this again," Spot said, shaking his head in submission.

With that, his boys broke out in excited cheers and yells, as if they had already won their victory. Half were already making their way down the road, heading for the lodging house to stock up. Spot simply took up his cane, and followed.

-

**The good stuff is coming up in the next chapter… We are so close to the end now, so keep up! Please review, and give me your opinions, especially what you think might happen in the end. Will he get Cat? Only time will tell… What would you like to see happen?  
(NOTE: It is very likely that the opinions stated in reviews concerning ending will not in fact change the outcome of the story. Like I said, it is already written… not in _stone_, but written nonetheless. Thanks!)  
Signed,  
--Redrogue**


	21. The Key Around His Neck 14

**I updated quickly this time because I got such immediate reviews. Love you all and keep it up!**

**-**

**Chapter 20**

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 14 **_(continued)_

-

The gang of Brooklyn prepared for battle for most of the night. Spot ordered everyone to sleep after that, and assured them that they would go storm Manhattan in the morning. They reluctantly agreed.

The next morning was the big day. The day to end all others. As Spot marched with his boys through the streets of Manhattan, he found himself fighting his own mind, trying hard to keep his thoughts on the strike, and not on Cat, and the knowledge she was leaving his life forever today.

But he couldn't help himself. She had become an addiction, and he craved the feeling he got when he looked at her, or when she looked at him. He longed, like so many other times, to just see her face one more time.

Spot suddenly stopped, halting the parade of young boys behind him. Why couldn't he? In fact, he could do more than just go see her face… he could kidnap her, or even follow her if necessary. Spot ground his teeth in thought, looking at his gang waiting in confusion behind him. What would they do without Spot? He'd order them on, under Griffen's orders, that's what. Suddenly Spot's heart lurched in a renewed excitement.

"Sorry boys," Spot said, turning to them. "I gotta make a stop."

Griffin was the first to laugh.

"Goin' to see your woman again, Spot?"

Spot didn't take offense, but rather liked the sound of his words. _Your woman_… Spot smirked to himself.

"_Yeah_," he replied like it was common knowledge. After that they began to smile and hoot, mocking their leader's romance. It was a thing very uncommon for Spot to show his softer side, since they all were sure he didn't even have one, but Spot wasn't concerned about his reputation anymore. There was only one thing left he cared about…

He ran as hard as he could down the block, and his gang followed far behind. He turned the familiar corner to the schoolhouse, and conquered each step with ease.

He was going to catch her before she left. He'd spill his soul to her for all to see. He'd make a fool of his hard earned status for this woman, because she was the only thing left in the world that truly made him smile. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

So he took out his crutch, his cane, and gripped it nervously. He took a deep breath, and tapped the gold tip on the dark wooden door twice. A girl answered. Not his.

"Hello Samantha," he greeted impatiently. "Is Cat--?"

"_Hello_ there, Spot," she said with strong flirtatiousness. "How many times do I need to tell you to call me Sam?"

"I'll let ya know when ya get there. Is Cat--?"

"Oh, Spot, you're so silly. 'Let you know when you get there'. How clever you are. You just make me laugh so much! My goodness… Now, what can I help you with?"

Spot sighed again in annoyance.

"Not with anythin' _you're_ thinkin'. Is _Cat_ around?"

"No, Spot," Sam confessed. "She left with Miss Gray and a rich man named Mr. Farsi for California this morning. Didn't she tell you? They're getting married tomorrow out west."

Spot's chest caved in, and his shoulders fell. His mouth went bone dry, and his breath left him. She was already gone. She was off to marry dear Howard.

"Thanks, Sam," Spot said with sorrow, and turned his back to her. He was too late. She was gone. He hung his head, his heart sinking lower with each step down the stairs.

Then he stopped. He turned back to Sam.

"Sam, do you think I could… see where she lived?"

She seem confused, but stepped aside obligingly.

"Sure, I suppose. Come with me."

"Spot, where're you going?" Griffin called, as he watched Spot enter the schoolhouse. Spot readily ignored him.

"What's he doin'?" Griffin wondered aloud.

Sam led Spot inside, through the foyer. Spot stole a glance at the parlor as they passed its doors, fully set with tea and purple velvet chairs fit for a king. Cabinets were filled with fine china, hand-painted with delicate flowers.

"Spot?" Sam insisted. "Com'on."

Spot didn't realize he was staring, and shrugged it off as they continued up a flight of stairs. A long hallway stretched down far, with doors on each side bearing room numbers like an apartment complex. The blue doors seemed old looking, as if put through many years of service.

"This one's hers," Sam said, going to a room bearing the number '5'.

"It's locked though. Been locked since they left."

Spot immediately pulled the shoelace over his head, and gripped the key in his hand. He frowned with determination and impatiently jammed the key inside the lock.

Again, it didn't fit.

"Damn key," Spot muttered, and stepped back. He ran full force for the door, slamming it open with his shoulder. Sam seemed surprised, and a few other girls stuck their head out of their rooms to see what the commotion was.

Spot picked the door back up and leaned it against the wall like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he stepped inside her room.

He was amazed at what he found. No, not for it's glorious splendor, but for how poor it looked. The window was broken, and the shutters hung on for their dear life, and the wallpaper on the walls was brown and peeling. The bed's mattress was sunken in and stained, and the furniture was chipped and scarred.

"This is where she stayed?" Spot said with disbelief. "Are _all_ the rooms like this?"

"More or less," Sam admitted. "I understand why though, for how broke Miss Gray is, of late."

"She's broke?"

"Has been for many years. Why do you think she takes in so many girls? She can't possibly afford us _all_ to live like she does. If they have a pretty face, she educates them on being a good wife then sells them off."

Spot's heart lurched. Cat was _sold_? Like a damn _slave_? What kind of a place was this?

His next thought was anger. She lied to him. Told him how great her life was when it was really hell. Why?

He punched his fist into her mattress as hard as he could, yelling in rage. A cloud of dust arose from the mattress in reply, making him cough a bit.

"You can go now," he said over his shoulder to Sam. Sam frowned, but left to go about her business.

Why would she lie to him? Spot sat on her bed and buried his face in his hands. He tried desperately to make sense of it all. Was she trying to impress him? Make herself seem above him? That couldn't be it…

Maybe she didn't want him to worry about her. Maybe she wanted him to think she was taken care of.

Or maybe she really was deceiving him. Maybe to her, anywhere was better than being with him in Brooklyn… He put that thought to death quickly. That couldn't be it either.

He looked up for inspiration, but nothing came. Her room was completely unfurnished with any trinkets whatsoever, save for a bottle of perfume and a jewelry box on her dresser.

Spot went over, and sprayed some of the scent in the air. Intoxicating. It smelled just like her. He fiddled with the box next. That's when he noticed it. A small piece of paper stuck out of the crack of the lid. It was a shred of newspaper bearing his name: _Spot Conlon_.

Spot went to open the box, but saw that it refused, staying tightly shut.

It was locked.

Spot glanced down at the silver key, still gripped in his hand. It matched the silver lock exactly. He gulped, finding suddenly that his mouth had gone dry. His heart raced with an unknown fear. Unhurriedly he slid the key inside the lock with gentle care. Slowly, he turned the key, and heard the soft _click_ as it undid the lock, and the small noise echoed through the empty room.

It fit.

His mind screamed with joy as he unfastened the latch and opened the box. His eyes grew wide at what he found.

There were many things, he saw, mostly newspaper clippings… but he soon noticed they were all about _him_… There was the one on Haze's death, and numerous small ones on his dealings with Brooklyn… and there was a cutout of his face from the newspaper he gave to her that day, with him one the front page of Denton's paper after the strike victory… it was all here.

But that wasn't all. There was an old photograph too… from an old faded newspaper. Spot immediately recognized himself when he was young. He was being herded by his mother to a waiting car, alongside of his father…

And then he recognized Cat. She was in the frightened crowd next to a judge and his wife, looking scared as well.

It was the night of the shooting, when Spot had saved and killed his father all in the same night.

Cat was there.

Spot's eyes grew wide… he _remembered_ her… she had stared at him and he waved at her at the speech dinner…

Oh God…

She wasn't lying when she said she had always loved him…

She knew who Spot really was all along, where he had come from, how he grew up… the same as her. She knew it the whole time.

He dropped the newspaper when he saw envelopes. Many letters, all bearing his name on the front, in Cat's wonderfully perfect cursive. Gulping hard, Spot grabbed one at random, and slowly slid his finger under the seal, and opened it. A thick piece of parchment was inside, folded in threes. Spot opened that slowly too.

_Dearest Spot,_ it said.

_Today we went out on a walk through the city. I saw a group of newsboys selling papers in the streets. I looked for you, but you weren't there. I miss you so much…_

They were written like journal entries, all addressed to him…

_Dearest Spot_, said another one grabbed at random.

It was raining today as we came home, and my school dress was ruined. No doubt I'll get a few extra chores for that later…

_Dearest Spot, _he desperately seized another.

_You found me at last today. I thought I was over you, but now I feel as if my soul has been returned to me, as if I can breathe in hope in my body now. The image of you keeps me going in my day, pushes me onward…_

_Dearest Spot,_

_I worry for you and that ghastly city, so much I am afraid of myself. I wish to tell you the truth of how I am living here, but a lie seems so much easier. I couldn't bear for you to worry about me like I worry for you…_

_Dearest Spot,_

_I wish to tell you how I feel for you, but something unknown holds my mouth closed. I try to love other men, but I feel as if I am living a lie, and it hurts me inside. The only way I can go through with it is if I imagine it's you in their stead…_

Spot then had another fit of rage, and swept the jewelry box off the dresser with a harsh shove, and let it crash to the floor. The papers and letters scattered everywhere, almost covering the entire floor of the small bedroom. He sighed to himself, and sat on the bed again.  
That's when he saw it.

One more letter. It was tied to her bedpost with twine, fluttering in the cold wind coming through the only window in the room. Spot tore it from the twine, and opened it slow and cautiously.

_Dearest Spot_, it said.

_I have no idea where to begin, but I know I must. I suppose I shall start with an apology. I had no reason to act the way I did, going on about a charade of status that was completely nonexistent. You are absolutely right; we were once the same level, and no amount of clothes and education could change that, no matter how I try. I wished only to see myself better than I was, to be someone worth stepping aside for in the streets. You remind me that I must be who I am, and never what I am not. You are right about another thing too: I was not so ready to give that up, not even for the best person I have ever known. By the time you read this I will probably be halfway to Monterrey, but I couldn't leave without these things being said. I don't love that man. I love you. I don't care if Brooklyn is first in your life; you are first in mine. If you ever change your mind about me, knowing this, then I only ask for you to show me by arriving in California, and meeting me at the train station Friday at noon sharp. Please save me from making the biggest mistake I will ever do. If not, then I will go ahead with it, knowing what your decision was, and that I do indeed have nothing better for me in my lonely life, and the reverie of you I have lived with for so long is only just that. Enclosed is an invitation to our wedding. It will have all the information you might need._

_Ever yours,_

_Catherine_

Spot read it once more, then again. Then he pulled out the invitation from the parchment envelope and glanced over that. It was black and white, printed on expensive paper and decorated with black ribbons. It had the address of the church circled with a pen.

Spot sighed, and thought to himself hard. She was getting married. She might be married already. There was nothing left to do. He shouldn't go off to Monterrey… no matter what he felt. Or what she did. They had agreed their place was here.

But where was he going to find another girl who loved him this much? Who he felt this way for?

That last thought scared him. _Who he felt this way for…_ How could one girl screw with his head so bad?

He didn't need this now. He couldn't leave the strike, and that was that. Brooklyn needed him, and if he left now he'd be as bad as Jack. Brooklyn was the only place that made sense, the only place where he felt in control… because he _was_ in control. He practically owned that place. Why should he give that up?

Because he loved her… He had told her so. It was the truth. Would it really be so bad to leave Brooklyn? But just when they were so close to the end of the strike…?

Spot tucked the letter in his shirt, over his heart. Now was not the time to decide. Brooklyn didn't seem to come first in his priorities anymore, but he was definitely first in Brooklyn's. They needed him. He was a father to it. Without him, they would be lost.

Spot let his head down in sorrow. Brooklyn seemed more like bondage than a child now, because it was the only thing keeping him from what he wanted the most. What he had always wanted, all his life.

Not power.

Love.

-

**You know what to do…  
Signed,  
RedRogue**


	22. The Key Around His Neck 15

**Almost there, people! The end is near…Sorry, this chapter has a lot of the movie in in… Have patience with it.**

**-**

**Chapter 21**

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 15 **_(continued)_

-

"Spot!" Griffin called suddenly as Spot stepped out of Cat's school building. "Look!"

Spot looked up. He saw what Griffin was shouting about immediately. On the next street down, Spot caught a glimpse of an even larger parade of strikers. They were all shouting and singing together, waving the same paper in the air that Spot's boy's held in their own hands. They were heading for the strike rally too.

Spot's eyes narrowed in angry determination. Cat was gone. She was getting married and never coming back. He had to leave her behind, though the very thought made his anger increase. He'd have to mourn for her later.

For now he had to focus on the strike. It was all almost over; he just knew it. Brooklyn matters were at hand. Brooklyn came first.

Spot frowned at that thought too. So then why couldn't he step off the last stair?

"Spot, com'on!" Griffin insisted. "If we take this street, we can cut 'em off at the square."

So Spot sighed once more, the fury of it all still strong in him, and painfully stepped off the stair and onto the street. He stuffed the letter in his shirt, and walked on.

"Let's go, then." Spot agreed, and led them away, taking wide, angry steps.

His men followed, but looked at him funny, like Spot had turning into a spider before their very eyes. Again, Griffin spoke for them.

"What's the mattah, Spot?" he said cautiously as he walked alongside of him. "You're different."

"Like how?" Spot said in wonder, though his tone sounded like he couldn't care less.

"Ya seem… _sad_."

Spot gave Griffin one of his infamous stare-downs, straight in the eye, as they walked on.

"Well, maybe I am. Does it mattah?"

"Well, I just thought," Griffin began. "That she was just another one of your… Do you really _like_ that girl, Spot? The Cat?"

Spot's rage flared again. He glared at Griffin with a glare so cold that Griffin shivered under it.

"Shut up, and just do your job, Griffin," Spot said in a low growl.

There were no further questions after that.

The gang marched as one toward the heat of the strike. Jack's boys were in awe of their rapidly increased numbers. Cheers arose from the Brooklyn boys as Spot whipped out his cane from his belt loop like a sword, and shouted "Brooklyn!" like the rest of them to announce their presence. Spot's fury was still apparent on his face, but his heart fell into a strong determination, as he forced his mind back into the strike.  
Spot sifted his way through the cheering crowd, heading straight for Jack. He turned the traitor around and looked him in the eye. Jack's smile disappeared at the sight of Spot. He glared at Jack for several moments, concentrating on reading him even through the noise.

"Ya came back," Spot said accusingly. Jack nodded seriously.

"So did you," he replied. "I'm guessin' ya read the paper."

"Yeah, I read your lousy paper," Spot admitted. "But that ain't the reason I came back."

Spot's harsh face melted into a grin, and Jack let out a breath and grinned as well, laughing and embracing Spot as thanks for his enormous flattery. Sure, it would take a while before Spot trusted Jack the same again, but it was a mistake, and they both knew that. Spot couldn't turn his back to a brother, or he would be a traitor too.

With that, Jack left him to walk toward the middle of the crowd, assuming Spot would follow. Jack grabbed David's little brother and lifted him to his shoulders as they walked, people cheering for Jack like he was a hero.

Spot fell into the excitement, joining the yells with a broad smile. It was going to be over soon. They would win, he was sure of it now.

"Dear me!" Racetrack yelled to Jack. "What have we here?"

Spot looked to where Racetrack was pointing, and saw several cops coming out of _The_ _World_ office building, along with a pompous looking man with long white sideburns. It was more than likely he was here to get negotiators.

"Let me at 'em!" Spot said, trying to shove Jack aside to get to the dirty rat from _The_ _World_.

"Hey, Spot, no!" Jack shouted grabbing at him.

"Then let me come with you!" Spot held his cane up, hinting strongly for Jack. "I got a thing or two to say to Pulitzer…"

"Naw, your temper's too hot. I'm takin' Dave," Jack said, grabbing the curly-haired boy.

"We gotta play this smart," Jack went on with a smile. "_Not_ be put in jail again."

"Yeah," Spot agreed, patting him on the back understandingly. "We both know what happens when ya get put in jail, ya dirty rotten scabbah."

So Jack took David and left with the bulls. Spot took his boys and waited by the distribution gate, while Race and the other's watched the front door, since they didn't know where Jack would be exiting from. All that was left to do was wait.

It seemed like forever they were up there with Pulitzer, but it was really only about ten to twenty minutes or so. More police were gathered around the gate where Spot waited, on horses and on foot, but Spot ignored them and stared through the bars intently.

Soon he spied David coming out of the back door. Excitement came like a wave, and Spot didn't wait for Jack, but called the others over.

"Hey!" he said, waving them over, side stepping around the police to get to them. "Hey fellahs! They're over here! They're over here!"

They ran back and greeted Dave, who seemed a bit sullen.

"What happened?" Spot insisted, along with about fifteen others around him demanding the same thing. Spot didn't stick around the Mouth for long, and went to Jack.

"What'd they say, huh?" Race said next to him. But Jack and Dave weren't talking. Not a good sign. Jack leaned down to Les, and whispered something in his ear that Spot couldn't make out.

"What?" Spot said, insisted he be let in on this. Jack put Les on his shoulders, lifted him up in the air, and faced the crowd.

"WE BEAT 'EM!" Jack yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

The crowd erupted in victory cheers, everyone with their hands in the air. Spot patted Kid Blink on the back, but otherwise kept his cool. He yelled and cheered with the rest of them, but somehow, though he knew the end of the strike was coming, it didn't seem real. His mind didn't fully digest the fact that they had officially won.

Weasel came out through the crowd, saying "excuse me" to everyone in his way, followed by the Delancey brothers. It took all the self-control Spot could muster not to kill them right then and there. But he knew it was a bad idea, considering that the police were standing right there. So Spot just taunted them as they passed, since they had the displeasure of losing anyway. They ignored him. Spot whispered to Griffin, sending for his boys, then went to follow the Delancey's.

"Hey, get outta the way, outta the way," Spot said, making the others make a path for him.

"Hey, Oscar! Morris!" Spot called, pulling out his slingshot. The brothers turned toward the voice, and found a marble in their faces each.

"OW!" Oscar yelled. "What was that? What do you want, shrimp?"

Spot wasn't afraid in the least. He went right up to them, revenge the only thing on his mind.

"Maybe I'd like your head in a bag for what you did a few years back."

"I remember you…" Morris came up to him next. He was indeed a bit taller than Spot, but it didn't matter. "You're that bratty runt at the Barrenger's bar. Tell me, did everyone make it out of that fire?"

Spot glared, his temper flaring again, but kept his control.

"I ain't mad at ya," Spot said smoothly.

The brothers seemed confused.

"Ya ain't?"

"Naw, I'm very thankful. I wanna let ya know that you're now in my very close circle. In fact, let me introduce ya to some of my friends."

With that, Spot lifted a single hand, and snapped his fingers loudly.

Every one of his Brooklyn boys ran at the Delancey's, and the brothers, seeing as they were suddenly outnumbered, fled with Spot's men close at their heels.

That was the end of the brother's pride, for sure, if not their lives.

Spot turned back to the strike, just in time to see Cheese, Ten-Pin, and all the other Refuge boys came out free from a jail paddy wagon. Then, after a moment, out came Crutchy, hopping off the step happily.

Everyone watched as Crutchy himself slammed the door after the Warden, being put in the jail wagon instead of the children. More cheers came. Crutchy came over and they all patted him on the back. Even Spot gave him a good pat and said:

"Good to have you back, Crutch."

"You won't be seeing much of him anymore," Denton said about the Warden, as he took his seat on the bench inside the jail cart.

"Say 'good-bye, Warden'!"

"Good-bye, Warden!" Spot joined in the shout. They were all-too-happy to say those words.

"Oh, Jack, you oughtta seen it!" Crutchy said excitedly. "He comes stormin' into the Refuge waving his walking stick like a sword, and he's leading in this army of lawyers and cops--"

"Wait wait," Jack said, putting up his hands to stop him. "Who comes stormin' in?"

"You know," Crutchy insisted. "Your friend. Him! Teddy Roosevelt!"

Spot looked over to where he pointed, and sure enough, there was the governor lifting his hat to the crowd. They all stared in amazement together as Denton spoke.

"The Governor's very grateful that you brought this problem to his attention," he said to Jack. "I said you might need a lift somewhere. He'd be happy to oblige. Anywhere you want. And this time, you ride _inside_."

Spot smirked at that.

"So, could he drop me at the train yards?" Jack said, ignoring it.

"Yeah, if that's what you want."

They followed Jack to the waiting carriage, and ran behind him as he drove off. Spot was glad for him. At least _someone_ was getting their dreams fulfilled…

After Jack turned the corner, gone forever, Spot never felt emptier. There was nothing left. Jack was gone, and so was she…

In this game he was playing, he as king and Brooklyn as his pawns, he found he had lost his queen. The one thing essential for a happy victory. What a crippling loss it was.

But it was the life he had chosen. All along this road he had chosen his own direction. She now walked another path. Their time together was now split. Now he ventured alone.

-

**If you are thinking this is done, you may be right… But, I suggest you read the first line of the first chapter of this story (not the intro, but the actual chapter). You may find some insight in it.  
Signed,**

**--RedRogue**


	23. The Key Around His Neck 16

**Chapter 22**

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 16 **_(continued)_

-

Spot went with the others that night to celebrate their victory, everyone treating each other to drinks and Racetrack leading a game of poker in the back of the bar. The night was joyful, everyone having a great time, the most popular amusement involving laughs about the warden being arrested by his own men.

But not Spot, who, as soon as he arrived, just sat down at a stool in front of the bar and ordered a drink. His thoughts consumed him. He had a decision that needed making. His heart ached for Cat, but his soul was sold to Brooklyn. Was Brooklyn tying him down from what he really wanted? Or was she just a distraction from where he really belonged?

Nine shots and three beers later, he still hadn't come to a decision. Soon the party was over, and the boys began to leave in groups.

By four in the morning, Racetrack, Kid Blink and Specs were the last ones heading out. Racetrack told the others to go on without him, and went to Spot with concern on his face.

"Ya alright?" Racetrack said demandingly, as was his way. Spot sighed, shifted in his seat, and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good, Race."

"You don't look 'good'."

Spot snickered and downed another shot.

"How'd ya do tonight?" Spot tried to change the subject. Racetrack shrugged.

"Eh, came out about even."

Spot knew Racetrack well enough to know that was a lie.

"That bad, huh?" Spot said with a chuckle.

"I'll get it back tomorrah," Racetrack reassured him. "Don't pass out here. I'm gonna leave the door open for ya."

"Thanks, Race."

"Oh, and Spot?"

"Yeah?"

"Griff told me about yer lady friend, and I wanted to say one thing: Brooklyn ain't what made you. _You_ made Brooklyn."

With that Race gave Spot a pat on the back and left. Spot chuckled to himself again. Wisdom from the gambler. Even so, it helped, and it wasn't long after that when Spot finally came to a decision.

-

Spot awoke with the others and went to the distribution office with a heavy heart. Jack was nowhere in sight, so it made the atmosphere in Manhattan seem strange. Everyone was leaving New York lately… everyone but Spot. Griffin patted him on the back knowingly, but said nothing.

Spot went in the office with the other boys, as the new office manager rang the circulation bell. The newsies ran with excitement, letting David get papers first like he was their new leader or something.  
And speaking of a new leader…

"Hey Griff, I've been meaning to talk to ya."

"What's on your mind, Spot?"

"I've been thinkin' lately." Spot had to look up at him since Griffin was a half-a-head taller than himself. "I've been thinkin' maybe it might be time to move on, so to speak. Ya follow?"

Griffin stopped walking immediately.

"_What_?"

"What do ya think about leadin' Brooklyn for a while? I don't know… maybe forever."

Griffin was stunned with confusion.

"I don't get it. You leavin' us, Spot?"

Spot looked ahead in thought.

"Yeah, I think so. I think I'm done here."

"Where ya gonna go?"

Spot shut his mouth and didn't answer. Griffin smiled and patted him on the back.

"Say 'hi' to her for me, will ya?"

Spot couldn't hold back his smirk.

"You'll be a great leadah, Griff. I wouldn't have chose ya otherwise."

Griffin nodded.

"No one could ever be a greatah leadah than you."

Spot smirked, spit in his hand, and shook Griffin's to seal the deal. Spot went around to some of his other boys to let them in on what he was doing, and they were all equally surprised. It was like they expected him to live here forever, to be leader until he was a hundred years old…

That's when all the newsies around him began to shout and go mad with excitement. Spot only heard Mush through the noise.

"He's back!"

Then Spot saw the carriage, and Jack in it.

Of course. Jack didn't have the heart to leave his town. They all were surprised? The only surprise in Spot was that it only took him one _day_…

As Jack said something to the governor and hopped out to greet everyone. Spot gave him one pat before single-mindedly heading Roosevelt himself.

"Hey there, big shot," he said, holding out his hand for the governor to shake. "I gotta damsel in distress that needs my immediate rescue. Spare me a lift?"

At that moment Jack kissed David's sister, the girl named Sarah, and the other newsies cheered and taunted his fervor. Spot smirked and was jealous of Jack for a good long moment. He wanted that too.

Mr. Roosevelt waited for the noise to die down before answering.

"Of course, young sir," the old man said good-naturedly, shaking Spot's hand gladly.

"Hop right in!"

So Spot climbed over the door, not bothering to open it, onto the green suede seating.

"Oh, Reginald!" Roosevelt called to the driver. "Away, please."

The driver shook the reins and the horses started off.

"Where to, good lad?" Roosevelt asked Spot. Spot thought hard for a moment. He looked at his cane.

"To the train yards."

"Back to the train yards, it is."

"Hey, look at Spot!" Jack called through the crowd, as he followed the carriage arm-in-arm with David and Sarah.

"Good-bye, Spot!" Sarah called with a wave. Spot waved and tipped his hat as he passed the crowd. Never would he see them again.

"Yeah," Jack taunted. "Go back to Brooklyn, eh?"

Spot looked back to the governor when he said something Spot didn't catch.

"What was that?" Spot said leaning in to hear through the noise.

"I said, where are you headed on the train?"

"Out west, to California."

The governor chuckled.

"I don't see why everyone wants to go out there. It's like I told your friend, you go out there to start a completely new life, away from what you know and who you know. You will be all alone out there…"

"No," Spot said with a smile, holding up the key hanging around his neck to eye level. "I won't be alone…"

-

**Short chapter, yes. You almost finally caught up to where I have written… almost. That only means it might take a little longer to post. I want to end it just right.   
I love all my readers, you are wonderful, and if I could, I would give you a continent of your choice.  
So just keep reviewing, and I'll see what I can work out.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	24. The Gray Hat 2

**Okay, I lied about every chapter being about the key. This title seemed more appropriate, seeing as we have already discovered the meaning behind the key. When you read, perhaps you will agree:**

**-**

**Chapter 23**

**Concerning item #3: The Gray Hat 2 **_(continued)_

-

As Spot rode confidently down the road, looking and feeling like a celebrity in the governor's carriage, his victory felt so close now. There was nothing left that could stand in the way, no complications, no hindrances… nothing he may have forgotten.

"Patrick?"

Guess again.

It was a name he hadn't heard in a long time. He turned around toward the voice, and saw a woman standing in the road behind. Her dress was tattered, her hair was a mess, her face was dirty, but Spot could recognize her anyway.

His mother.

"Oh, my goodness," she said, chasing after the carriage. "Can it really be you?"

Spot was in shock, and reacted defensively.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, lady," he said, waving her off. "I ain't no Patrick."

"But you are. Your eyes. I know it's you!"

"Stop for a second, would ya?" Spot told the driver, and he did so.

"Hang on a minute, Teddy," Spot said, hopping out of the buggy to the woman.

"I'm tellin' you, lady. I ain't no Patrick, and I don't _know_ no Patrick. So shove off. Go home."

"I forgive you, Patrick, darling," she said. "In fact I'm forever thankful for that night on the bridge. Just know that, and that I love you still. Come home, please."

"If I meet a Patrick, I'll be sure to tell him that for ya."

The woman sighed, giving up.

"Thank you," she said sadly. "That's all I ask."

She turned to leave.

"Hey hey, lady!" Spot called after her. She turned to face him again.

"I think I know a Patrick back in Brooklyn. I seem to recall him mentionin' somethin' about a mothah. That she was a sweet broad, and he loved her, or somethin'. I don't know. Maybe that's your guy."

She smiled in a grateful relief, and nodded.

"Thank you," she said, with sadness that he insisted on denying her.

Oh god. That was his mother. She must have given up everything to find him, from the way she was dressed. All these years… Memories flooded Spot's mind like a busted dam.

"Hey lady!" he called after her. She stopped and listened.

"You ain't gonna find him in Brooklyn. Word is, he's headed out west. Maybe someday he'll be back for you. If not, just know… he… he turned out a'right."

Relief swelled on her face, and she ran up and embraced him tighter than anyone ever had.

"Oh, my _boy_! I missed my _boy_!"

"Yeah, yeah," Spot said, pushing her back. "The name's Spot, by the way."

She looked at him with full understanding, giving him a single nod. She looked upon him with such pride, and smiled faintly, then went on her way.

She looked back once to him only once, with eyes swollen with love, and had the look of a person who was taking a picture in her mind to live on. Then she turned her back to him, and wrapped her cloak tightly around her to fight the chill, and moved on.

"Kind lady," Roosevelt commented, still waiting patiently in his carriage.

Spot still kept his eyes locked on the older woman walking away from him forever, but nodded in complete agreement.

-

The train ride seemed like an eternity to Spot, staring out the window for days on end, wondering if he was too late. Wondering if he had made the right choice. He was so confident when he left, but as always, his head was butting in again, making things complicated. He felt an expected remorse for leaving his beloved Brooklyn behind. So much had happened on the grounds of Brooklyn, so many things had shaped him into the man he was now. Was he really going to change, to settle down, all for a lady?

He looked at his gray newsie hat fondly, remembering when he had stolen it from Snoddy all those years ago to look the part of a newsie. So long ago…

It was then he realized, as the open lands passed by the window of the train:

He already had changed, he already had settled down. He had given up everything for this woman. It was only his mind that was thinking differently. It was time for it to let Brooklyn go.

Spot stood up suddenly, and opened the window of the train. He grinned at his hat for a moment more, then threw it from the train window as hard as he could, and watched as it floated down a hill and drifted into a tree.

And oddly enough, it was a sight that made him smile.

**-**

**Now you know the reason why I said it was "concerning… The Gray Hat". It seemed to have a sense of symmetry to have the hat mark the beginning of his Brooklyn career and now the end of it. **

**Still working it up toward the climax. It's a doozy. I'll post more very soon. Review for now.**

**Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	25. The Key Around His Neck 17

**That last chapter was short and so is this one, so I updated nice and fast…**

**-**

**Chapter 25**

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 17 **_(continued)_

-

Spot held Cat's letter in his hand as he stepped up the carpeted stairs of the mission in California, where she had directed him. The bells were silent, and the carriages were parked all around. The marriage was taking place right at this very moment.

Spot ascended with a set mind. He was here for Cat, and Cat only. He'd fight that old man if he had to, to get her back. She wanted to be with him, he wanted to be with her, and now he was going to get her back. He was _going_ to get her _back_…

He kept telling himself this with every step up the flight of stairs. She was so close now…

Spot paused for a moment behind the large wooden door, marking the entrance to the wedding and the starting point of his certain commotion to be soon caused. He sighed, and wondered for a split second of how he got here, how he found himself on the other side of the country, in front of the door to a church bearing a woman he loved who was about to marry someone else. It was so bewildering.

But yet, he was here. He had better get on with it before it was too late.

He took a deep breath, furrowed his brow in determination, and burst through the door, marching down the aisle in long strides. Immediately the guests began to whisper in wonder, and the priest spoke louder above their murmurs to finish off the ceremony.

"I now pronounce you, husband, and…"

"Stop!" Spot commanded. "I have reason this pairing should not be, and that reason is… Me."

The guests gasped in shock, and openly talked amongst themselves in confusion. Spot turned to them with obvious annoyance.

"Oh, shut up, will ya!" he told them.

They were silent at once.

"This woman told me that if I loved her enough to follow her all the way out here from the depths of New York state, I would come for her and stop this madness of a wedding. And guess what everybody! _Here I am_! So if you all could kindly--"

"Maria! Is this _true_!"

"I swear Tomas, I've never seen this man before in my entire life…"

Spot's heart took an abrupt halt. He slowly looked to the altar toward the voice. And his eyes went wide.

That was not his woman in the white dress. It was some other woman he had never laid eyes on before.

Spot gulped, a feeling of sorrow and embarrassment welling over him as the crowd simply stared now in shock, and the to-be spouses continued to argue.

"Maria, who is this man! Why won't you tell me who he is?"

"I swear, I have never seen him… I swear it!"

Spot checked the invitation Cat had given him. This was most definitely the place. So where was Cat?

Spot looked back to the guests in the pew seats. Every one of them had faces of surprise, anger, and confusion. But there was one face near the back of the church that was smiling. It was the face of a thin old woman with silver hair.

"Miss Gray?" Spot wondered aloud.

"Don't worry everyone!" Miss Gray said, standing up. "I can speak for this man."

She looked at Spot square in the eye.

"He is crazed, and has hallucinations. He lost a woman recently and now he seeks to steal yours. Come with me now, Mr. Conlon."

Spot froze, still confused at what was going on here. He had imagined this moment going much differently than this.

"Come with _me_, Mr. Conlon," Miss Gray commanded again. Spot crumpled the invitation and threw it to the floor, then followed the old woman out of the church.

-

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" he demanded once the doors of the church had closed behind them. "What did you do with Cat?"

"Me?" Miss Gray said defensively. "I did nothing. She was the one who left you that wretched letter."

Spot immediately began to get it.

"She told you about it," Spot guessed.

"She warned Howard about it, and then Howard warned me. She's in dire love with you boy."

Miss Gray looked him over with disgust.

"Though I can't account for taste. And you wouldn't have known any different if she hadn't sent you that damn key."

She spoke so calm, so collected. It infuriated Spot to no end.

"That was you," Spot said decidedly. "_You_ were the one that paid Fingers to get the key back from me, not Howard."

Miss Gray scrunched her nose at him like she had just smelled something foul.

"I couldn't risk you finding out the truth of how she felt about you, boy. You are slime, worth nothing more than the dirt under Howard's boots. Even _you_ have to admit that she would surely be better off. But that all doesn't matter anymore anyway boy, because she didn't go through with it, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me? What are you saying? I was too late…"

"Too late? Of course _you_ were, but the representative you sent wasn't. Howard already sent her off for New York with that man. He was completely heartbroken, and angry besides. I wouldn't doubt it if he came after you with a hundred men…. Anyway, the man who came here said he was sent 'by Spot to get Catherine'."

"Gray…" Spot said, the first time he had ever had true terror in his voice. "I didn't _send_ nobody…"

-

**Dun dun DUN! Who took Cat away? The plot thickens… Review for goodness sakes!  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	26. The Gold Tipped Cane 4

**Perhaps this story should be called "Finding Catherine" or "See Spot Run", or maybe even "That Darn Cat", because he always seems to be one step behind her. Anyhow, we are still nearing the end, I promise, in case you are disappointed at the twist.  
****Read on:**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 26**

**Concerning item #2: Gold-Tipped Cane 4 **_(continued)_

-

Spot leaned his back against the train car wall, trying to gain control of his thoughts, to just think clearly at all. He was consumed by his grief, and this unfamiliar sense of hopelessness. He was back to where he had started all those years ago, with some stranger who had taken Cat and him with no idea where she was.

But still, his instinct led him back to New York. Perhaps, with the help of his good ol' boys in New York, he'd have a better chance of finding her again. He'd do whatever it took, even if it meant spending the rest of his life searching… He'd never stop until she was near to him again, blushing wildly at the sigh of him like she always did.

But who in the hell had taken her _this_ time?

It was a question that plagued him the entire trip. What use could one possibly have with a penniless girl like Cat? Besides the fact of her being a beautiful… young… virgin woman…

He quickly shoved that thought aside as best he could manage, but still it lingered in the back of his mind…

-

It was sunny when he stepped off the train at the yards, but the clouds began to set in as he made his way back to Brooklyn.

The bridge had never seemed so long, or the streets so empty. Sprinkles of rain soon fell on his face like a friendly mist, but the overhead thunder rolled with hostility with every beat of his boot hitting the pavement. He walked in large strides, his hand gripping his cane just below the gold tip.

His plan had been to search for Cat in Brooklyn, to ask around if anyone had been sent to retrieve her, on the slight chance that just maybe it had been one of them. Though, he knew that the likelihood was slim, because everyone had still been in his sights as he left in the carriage with Roosevelt, and couldn't possibly have made it to California before him. But still, he figured it was the best place to start.

His eyes fell to the ground as he walked, and began to notice something unusual through the mist.

Red spots.

It didn't take long for him to figure out that it was a trail of blood on the bridge, though the rain was making the boldness of the color fade, it was still evident.

Spot's heart lurched in fear. He was in Brooklyn country now. This blood had to belong to someone he knew.

He squinted ahead, through the mists to look beyond. A dark figure stumbled along the pavement not too distant before him, then fell face foreword to the ground.

Spot ran quickly to him, noticing as he came close that he was a newsie. Spot flipped him to his back, and recognized him immediately.

"Griffin!" he said in surprise.

Griffin smiled at the sight of Spot like a madman, and held his hand over a wound in his stomach. His blood spilled everywhere, drenching his clothing, and out of his mouth. Still, he was smiling.

"You came back," he said with all his breath. "I'm sorry, Spot…"

Spot frowned. His friend wasn't going to make it through this.

"What you sorry for?" he demanded.

"I wasn't half… the leader… you were… I couldn't… even defend myself…"

"Shut up, Griff," Spot said. "You're wasting all your strength on stupid talk."

Griffin just grinned some more, his breath falling short, but Spot's chest was burning in anger.

"Who did this to you?" Spot demanded. "Was it someone from Queens? Harlem?"

Griffin shook his head no.

"_WHO?_" Spot said again harshly. "_Who DID IT?_"

Griffin's smile wavered, and then the light in his eyes disappeared. He was dead.

Spot sighed, ran his hands over Griffin's eyelids to close them, and got up.

"Some leader you left behind," a voice behind him said. "Dumb enough to walk the streets of New York alone."

Spot didn't turn toward the voice, just let his head fall in recognition. He didn't need to face him to know who it was. It was so quiet he could hear Griffin's fresh blood dripping from the assailant's knife.

"My ol' friend…" Spot said, turning to face the man. "Shouldn't ya be dead, Dickens?"

"I'm human. Aren't humans supposed to be alive?"

Spot smirked at the naivety of it all. Of himself. Of course. He should have known.

"It was one a' _your men_ who identified the supposed 'body' of you at the morgue," he said decidedly. "Ya wanted everyone to think you were dead. That's what I get for taking the word of the press. Were ya plottin' revenge for all these years?"

"Don't give yourself that much credit, Conlon," Haze replied. "After your little household takeover I wound up in the hospital for months. Then I signed up with a recruiter, and shipped out west. Headed as far away from ya as I could manage. I must admit though, vengeance was definitely on my mind. And fate, it seems, was always on _my_ side. I spend a few years making me a clean livin', when… who do I see in a nice white dress? A familiar face… nice lookin' little tootsie…"

Spot ground his teeth in anger, but Haze went on.

"Spot's girl, I say to myself. One I _know_ he'd cause a tussle for. Got a little special place in your heart now, Conlon?" Haze taunted. "Sure saw _that_ comin'. You always did like the sluts."

Spot was not offended, but was too distracted by something else. He frowned at the man in deep thought, suddenly coming to the realization of something unforeseen.

"This isn't about Brooklyn at all, is it?" he asked. "This is about her…"

He furrowed his brow, trying to remember her name.

"Abigail," he said at last.

Haze glared at him.

"Abby was all I had. You took her from me, just because she was mine."

"She never came back, I presume," Spot guessed mockingly. "Well, she _did_ come rather willingly…"

"Shut up!" Haze shouted. "Now I've taken all you have left too, just because she's yours."

Haze held his hand in the air, and snapped his fingers loudly at lighting split the sky. Out of the mists appeared one of his familiar cronies… and—

"Cat!" Spot said, starting for her. She was being held by a perverted looking man who had his hand over her mouth as she mumbled desperately though it, and the man was smiling evilly at Spot like he had something planned for her later. Well, not if he could help it…

Haze grabbed Spot's arm and shoved him back.

"No, no!" Haze said. "She's mine now. And you have to remember newsie code. Those who have something taken, must fight to get it back."

"You want to get tossed in the river again?" Spot said, pulling out his cane. "Fine."

"Oh, I think you'll see I've learned a thing or two in the military," Haze reassured him. "Like survival of the fittest."

"Yeah, I learned that one too."

"And all is fair in love and war."

Spot smirked.

"That one I haven't learned quite yet."

"Then allow me to educate you."

With that, Haze whirled around and threw the knife toward Cat, letting it fly firmly into her shoulder. The perverted man let her go in surprise, jumping backward in shock, and so Cat fell limply to the ground.

"Cat!" Spot tried again to rush to her, but again was pushed back.

"You know the rules. You have about five minutes before she bleeds to death. You'll have to kill me before then."

Spot was paralyzed in astonishment, stunned at the horrible sight before him. Cat was moaning in pain, clutching her wound with tears in her eyes.

But he didn't have time to regain his composure, because Haze was already upon him, charging at him with murder in his eyes.

Spot naturally whipped out his cane, a similar look for his own expression, swinging his cane like a bat at Haze's face. Haze saw it coming, and caught it in mid-swing, yanking it from his hands.

"Nobody here to help you now, is there?" Haze taunted, throwing the cane aside. "No rebel Brooklinites to come to win the war."

"I didn't need them to beat you last time," Spot reminded him. "Bastard."

"You'd best think of where you're going to be burying her bones…" Haze said. "It'll be a good thing she won't be awake for what I'm going to do to her _dead body_."

"You're a sick man, and almost as big of a arrogant prick as me," Spot observed. "But I don't have time to compare."

The rain began to pour in buckets now, and the air fell so cold even Haze shivered, still Spot's glare was colder. He did not blink, and his fierce look did not falter for a moment. Vengeance was in both their eyes.

"You're going to _really_ die this time, Dickens," Spot vowed.

"We shall see…" Haze said with a confident smirk.

**

* * *

**

**Intense, eh? Tell me what you think… More very soon.  
****  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	27. THe Gold Tipped Cane 5

Because you reviewed so fast and wonderfully, I am giving more sooner than planned. Here's to you, guys!

**-**

**Chapter 27**

**Concerning item #2: Gold-Tipped Cane 5 **_(continued)_

-

Spot didn't dare breathe. Sweat poured from his brow to mix with the rain falling on his face. He spared a quick glance to Cat on the ground, the blood of the wound in her shoulder pouring onto her beautiful, yet now muddy, wedding gown. He couldn't even think about what would happen if he lost to Haze. Winning was essential, and a fast win at that.

He looked back to Haze, glared, and attacked. Spot didn't take him by surprise, and his flying fist was blocked with some ease. Haze was faster than he used to be. Much faster. Spot didn't even have time to avoid the steel fist heading right for his jaw.

It hurt.

Spot stumbled backward, holding his chin with surprise at the sudden onset of pain. He recovered quickly, and lunged for Haze again with another punch easily evaded. Again, Haze connected his knuckles to Spot's face, with a blow harder than a mallet.

"Spot!" Cat shouted in worry, through her intense pains. She distracted Spot for a moment, long enough to find another fist lodged in his face.

He fell to the floor. What was the matter with him? Why couldn't he touch this guy? He had beaten bigger and meaner than him before, why was this any different.

But Spot already knew what was different. He was scared. He was scared of losing, so scared his terror consumed his mind and ability to fight efficiently.

"Pathetic," Haze commented. "You've lost your touch, loverboy."

Spot glanced at his cane, resting on the ground behind Haze.

"I haven't lost my touch," Spot argued, rolling to grab the cane. "I'm in my prime."

Then he swung the cane as hard as he could, hitting Haze upside the head like one would an easy home run.

Haze stumbled sideways, and Spot had hit him again before he could recover.  
When he swung for a third time, however, Haze grabbed it from midair like he had before, and tried to yank it from his hands, but Spot held firm. Instead, he yanked Spot close to him.

"Let go," Haze commanded. As if Spot would obey. When he didn't, Haze kneed him in the stomach, making him double over in pain. Spot tried to catch his breath, but Haze was upon him with that cane faster than the lightning flashed.

Spot fell to the ground, blooding pouring from his mouth. Something inside of him was bleeding.

"She ain't gonna make it, Conlon," Haze taunted. "You'd be wise to give it up now."

"Wisdom ain't one of my best virtues," Spot replied through his pains, as he struggled to get up. Haze proceeded to swung the cane like a pickax on Spot's back, making him fall to his stomach again.

"Go ahead, get up again."

The cold, wet pavement felt horrible against his cheek, as Spot laid on his stomach without much hope left in him. He looked over at Cat once more, laying across from him with sorrowful, pained eyes. She smiled weakly at him, as to arouse some encouragement.

_I love you_… she mouthed, just before her eyes closed, and she fell unconscious.

Anger came through Spot like a harsh wind, something boiling inside him. He propped himself on his shaky hands, brought his legs underneath himself, and stood.

"Want more, do you?" Haze said, gently swinging the cane beside himself like he was off to the theatre to see a play.

Spot stood as tall as he could, sucking in all the air his lungs would allow to help lessen the intensity of the pain in him. He glared at Haze, the color in Spot's eyes turning pure white, and in a foul rage, attacked Haze with all his force. Haze hit him weakly with the cane, but Spot didn't seem to notice. His body had fallen numb, and his mind fizzled with fresh motive.

With one fist he broke Haze's nose, while the other, a rib. It was like he was swinging hammers. Haze howled in pain, dropping the cane to the floor. Spot rightfully grabbed it, then swung as hard as he could for Haze Dickens's head. It was surely a fatal blow, even the first time, but it was beyond a doubt as Spot swung for it again. Haze was a ghastly sight, there on the floor, a side of his head smashed into the other side, and completely covered with his own blood. He was as dead as they came.

Spot dropped the cane immediately to the watery cobblestone street, and rushed to Cat's own bloody mound. He didn't bother to stop and see if she was still alive, much less tend to his own terminal wounds, just scooped her in his arms and ran faster than he had ever ran before, even through the extra weight in his arms. Some force gave him an added strength, only what needed to be done was on his mind.

The Manhattan hospital was closer, he quickly concluded, and so that where he headed. His clothes were so cold and wet he couldn't breathe, even if his severe pains weren't inhibiting it to begin with.

Soon the double doors to the hospital were near, and Spot urged himself to run just a little longer, though he was unsure if he was going to make it. It seemed so far away. He had to make it… not for himself, but for her.

Each step up to the double doors was torture, but at long last they too were conquered, and the doors were before him. The last of his strength began to abandon him, and he couldn't bear to hold Cat in his arms any longer, as his legs began to crumble beneath him. He reached to the ringer, chiming the bell once, then resorting to pounding on the door as he fell to his knees. The world began to grow dark, and his mind clouded, and his knocking grew less fervent as he began to fade.

Finally, the Great Spot Conlon fell limp beside his true love, without even staying conscious long enough to see if a nurse had answered his call and opened the door to him.

**-**

**I would say "_The End_", but that would be both cruel and a lie. More coming soon. Take the time to review, if you will. I _live_ for reviews, so you shouldn't kill the author before the story is over. So review already. My life depends on it.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	28. The Key Around His Neck 18

Do not fret! The conclusion is near. Sorry in advance, this is a short chapter.  
Read on:

**-**

**Chapter 28**

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 18 **_(continued)_

-

Darkness was the only thing Spot knew for a single moment, which to the time of the real world was actually equal to two days. When the first of the light reached his eyes, he found himself in a room of white, with a light above him as bright as heaven's glow, which is exactly what Spot thought it was.

When his focus came, he realized it was an overhead bulb, and that the room of white was indeed a hospital row. The pain in his stomach told him that he was a patient.

When rational thoughts came, they fell immediately to Cat's well being. He grabbed at the first nurse that passed, and demanded information.

"Where is Cat?" he spat out desperately. "The girl I came with— is she okay?"

The young nurse seemed confused.

"Sir, I'm afraid I don't know whom you are speaking of," she replied calmly.

"Don't pull that! The girl— I carried her from Brooklyn Bridge all the way to the front of this hospital. Tell me right now, where is she?"

The nurse was even more confused now.

"Sir, that's not possible. Your condition— you could never have been able to carry _yourself_ that far, much less a whole other person."

"But I _did_. And you know how I know I did? Because I was _there_!"

Spot jumped out of the bed, forcing through his pains, to stand.

"Outta my way. If you ain't gonna tell me where she is, I'll find her myself. I know she's here."

"Sir!"

Spot walked as fast as he could through the injuries, his determination giving him added strength.

"_Sir_!" the nurse called after him.

"What is that patient doing out of bed?" a nearby doctor asked the nurse.

"I tried to tell him, sir, but he's insistent."

"Get him under control, _now_," the doctor commanded.

"Yes, sir."

Then Spot turned a corner and beyond earshot of the doctor and nurse. He had no intention of going back in that bed anytime soon.

There were rows and rows of beds, which reminded Spot that this was a war hospital, though thankfully wars were only on the streets nowadays. The beds were almost all empty, in every room he looked, and no face matched the one he was desperately searching for. He grabbed at every nurse he saw, asking around for Cat, but no one seemed to know who she was.

Finally, on the bottom floor, he asked the receptionist, who gave him an answer worthwhile.

"I remember you, and the young girl," she replied. "I was the one who opened the door to your persistent knocking, and found you both collapsed on the front stoop. It nearly put me in a hospital bed myself, from the shock."

"But where's the girl who came with me?" Spot pressed.

"That I don't know. They sent her on the third floor, I think."

"I was just there," Spot said, shaking his head. "She wasn't in any of the rooms…"

Spot saw some nurses and a large burly doctor coming toward him rather hurriedly. No doubt they were here to send him back to his bed.

"Then I'm afraid she must not be here, sir," the receptionist said regrettably. "Third floor is where all of our unidentified patients go."

"Then maybe she was identified. Can you look in your files for a Catherine… Catherine anything. Please."

"I'll try, sir," she replied, just as the doctors grabbed Spot and pulled him away. Spot went willingly.

-

Spot laid in bed, staring at the ceiling above him, his will to live fading. In all the times he had lost Cat, never had he lost her for good. Was this truly the end? He had given up so much for her… and would he ever get to enjoy the rewards of what he had chosen?

"Sir?" the nurse he had first met came over to him, bearing a large stack of folders. "The receptionist told me to give you these. She said you're free to look through them and see if your friend is in one of them. They are all the Catherines we have ever had on record."

Spot took them gratefully, and immediately flipped one open.

"Tell her thanks and she'll have them back in no time."

"Certainly, sir."

Spot glanced over the papers, reading from top to bottom of every page, everything from of eye color to medical conditions, looking for brown eyes, brown hair, and stab injuries first, then realized the nurse was still standing by him. He looked back up her with a confused expression.

"Something you wanted to say?"

"What is this girl to you?" she asked. "Sister? Girlfriend?"

Spot glared at the nurse harshly, knowing exactly what she was getting at.

"Is it customary for nurses to hit on their patients?"

"I just wondered," she said defensively.

"Sure," Spot said doubtfully. "She's my future wife, if you insist on being nosy."

The nurse nodded and walked off, as if offended. Spot smirked. A while ago he would've jumped on the chance to flirt with a pretty nurse like that. It wasn't like they had far to go—after all, he was already in _bed_!

But that part of him had died a long time ago. The desire for any other woman had left him. No other woman could make him feel the way Cat did. No other woman ever would again.

And that's why he needed to find her. To have some closure, at the very least. Was she even alive? Not knowing seemed worse than knowing, at this point.

Page after page of each file, nothing was even close. There was only about ten files or so, so he got through them rather quickly, but each one failed him. Not one was even close.

Spot threw the files on the floor in frustration. God, he missed her already. So much that it hurt more than his physical pains.

The unknown hurt. It hurt a lot.

-

**Poor Spot. Will he ever just find the girl and kiss her already? It's even eating _me_ up. What about you? Review, tell me all about it.**

**Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	29. The Key Around His Neck 19

This is it! Under thirty chapters is what I vowed and thirty chapters is exactly where this story landed. Enjoy:

**-**

**Chapter 29**

**Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 19 **_(continued)_

-

Spot woke up two weeks later feeling the same feeling he had felt since he first awoken here. Helpless. There were no more files to sort through, no more rooms that needed searching. She simply was not here. He hadn't given up in his mind, but logically he could see that the forces were greatly against him, and he had no clue of how to sway them to his favor.

Hope was beginning to abandon him, and he wondered if he would ever gaze on his beautiful woman again. The only thing left he held onto now was simple memories to keep his heart light—a smile here, a blush there. He could picture her so perfectly in his head, it was as if she was already here.

He looked to the man in the bed next to him, disrupting his thought by talking in his dreams. He was a large redheaded man, a military convalescent it seemed. His nightmares bothered Spot to the point of wanting to pull out his own ears. But Spot said nothing to protest the man's noise, much to the nurse's surprise, but simply let him go on dreaming.

But just when Spot was wondering if he'd ever feel happy again, something happened. That one young brunette nurse came to him rather hurriedly, and knelt next to his bed with an anxious look on her face, and said the words Spot had been dying to say himself:

"I know where she is," she said.

Spot immediately sat up in his bed and paid her his full attention. Not even the sky falling could have pulled his gaze from her at that moment.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"She was never put in the records, nor taken to this hospital. I found a hospital report from Mary—the receptionist? --And she told me a girl was transferred to Smith Memorial, which is a smaller hospital down the road where they put the special cases—rich people, mostly, who can afford the bills."

"Rich people?" Spot repeated. "She's poorer than me. Why would they put her there?"

"Some guy identified her real quick, and sponsored her invoices."

Spot leaned his back to the headboard of the bed, and sighed.

"Good ol' Howard," he concluded. "Guess he figured I'd be okay here in this sickbay—either that or he didn't give a hoot."

Spot forced out the dreaded question, and braced himself for a blow.

"So is she still… you know… _alive_?"

"I don't know."

Spot threw aside the blankets and leaped out of bed, even through the nurse's protests.

"You can't go!" she said. "You're not well just yet--"

"I can't stay," Spot said, prying her hands off of him. "That girl means more to me than living, and if I don't see her real soon—it'll definitely be the end of Spot Conlon, because I've given up everything else worth living for in my life. She's it, you understand? Now let go before I have to make ya."

She seemed rather surprised, but her grip stayed firm.

"I don't like hurting broads," he warned, slowly raising his fist by his head, cocking it threateningly.

Finally, she let go.

"I've never seen a street man so determined… for a lady."

"I'm determined in everything. What's your name anyway?"

"Anne Carter. I'll show you the nearest exit, and sign your release. I hope you live a wonderful life, Mr. Conlon."

"Thanks," Spot said. "You too."

She watched him carefully, as his hand slowly drifted to the nightstand, to his own items placed there, as if any sudden moves would make them shatter like glass. He grabbed his things off one by one, a swarm of memories coming with each item:

Red suspenders.

Slingshot.

Cane.

Key.

All meant the world to him, and he felt good again just putting them back in their rightful places on his person. Except for the one thing…

"By the way," Spot said as he handed the nurse the cane. "When the loud redhead wakes up… Give him this."

She seemed utterly confused, but agreed.

"And you might want to direct some of that 'customary nurse-patient flirtation' his way. He might appreciate it more."

"Will do," she said with a nod and a smile.

But even with all his items back in their places, he was not complete. There was one item left that needed to be replaced—and she was at Smith Memorial Hospital.

-

The receptionist directed Spot to the room Cat was currently residing in. Spot spared no hesitation to go there, running up every stair and running past every floor to the next flight, his mind predetermined.

But as his foot hit the last step to her very floor, time seemed to suddenly slow. He saw her room number ahead of him, straight down the hall, seemingly ominous of something beyond Spot's comprehension.

It would seem that in this moment Spot would be rushing to his love, that he would spare no moment to enter that room and gaze up her face, but with every step Spot felt more dumbfounded, more bewildered, even panicked.

His emotions were overwhelming him, ones of anticipation, of excitement, of desperation, of longing, of apprehension. This was the end of his searching, the end of his journey, and the beginning… of his life as a whole human. The completion of him was near, and he met it with a spinning head.

He opened the door just as slowly, letting it swing open by it's own weight, then closed it quietly behind him, in case the dear lady was sleeping. The room was bright, lit by sunlight escaping through the thin curtain. He gazed upon the hospital bed, and the certain beautiful sight to be before him.

But his entire chest collapsed when he saw the bed was empty, the creaseless white pillow resting upon it, and the hospital issue blankets folded neatly on top of one another, which could only mean one thing.

"She's gone," Spot choked. "She's really… _gone_."

"I see he tracked her down," Spot heard a familiar deep voice behind him say through the closed door to the room. "How long did it take him?"

"Just a day," another man explained. "That boy must really care for that girl."

"Yes," the first man replied. "I daresay he does."

Then Howard entered the room, and put a hand on Spot's shoulder. Spot let his head fall, his tears threatening to escape his hold.

"You know, son," Howard said. "She means much to me too, which is why I let her leave for you—though she would have been better off in my care, though I fear that isn't best thing to say just now."

Spot, for one time in his life, didn't know how to respond. He couldn't speak anyway; his throat had closed and made him believe his just might never breathe again. Howard was right. She was better off with him, and they both knew it. But like he said, she had decided, and that was that.

"You're a good man, Howard," he said at last. "I'm sorry about everything. You have to understand though… love don't come easy in me, but I truly loved this woman. Really."

"I know, son," he replied. "I know. And all the money and protection in the world can never bring her the happiness she has with you… I understand, Mr. Conlon. Trust me, I understand. I lost a wife a long time ago, and I nearly died of heartbreak. I thought maybe if I could only replace her… I might feel happiness again. But wives should not be bought. I know that now. If it is to happen, I wish for it to happen something like yours. Slowly… Naturally… _Earned_."

Spot nodded, and rubbed his eyes in fatigue. It was over. The only problem, he had no idea where to go, what was next for him. His life had just ended too.

"Wait," Howard said. "Why do you say '_loved_'?"

"Come again?" Spot said, his usual anger and frustration rising to his voice.

"You speak as if you are not going to see her again. Didn't I just explain that I was leaving her to you permanently?"

Spot looked to the old man with wonder, a flicker of hope coming to him.

"Ain't I _not_ going to see her again?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to pass by her in the hall whether you like it or not. She should be back from the examination room by now. I expect she's just outside signing a few things for record."

Spot's eye grew wide, and his brow met in the center of his forehead, his head still sorting through the last bit of confusion. He sought frantically to rationalize it all.

Howard sighed as Spot overcame his shock, and then the old man pressed the tip of his top hat to press it deeper over his head, then opened the door to go on his way.

"Well, I hope you don't take offense to me saying," Howard said, waving his farewell. "Good riddance, to both of you."

"No offense taken whatsoever," Spot replied. "Same to you."

They nodded at one another as if they had just made a binding deal with each other, then Howard disappeared beyond the door and the two men never laid eyes on one another again.

Spot combed his fingers through his hair, in an attempt at encouraging the stray hairs away from his face, took a deep breath, and headed for that door himself…

-  
His heart did a strange tumble as he walked back into that hall, and let his eyes drift easily to the girl, who was standing over a far-off counter. Her usually perfect curls were messily sprawled over her delicate shoulders, partly covering the large bandage over her chest and arm. Even from a distance, he could plainly see her large, slanted brown eyes gazing hard on the paper she was signing, reading the content carefully and not noticing much else.

Spot's heart was going to fast, his mind racing even faster—too fast to think, to speak… his legs moved beneath him involuntarily, slow at first, but as his excitement grew, so did his speed.

At the sound of the heavy steps of each steel-toed boot hitting the tiled floor, Cat looked up from her work only for just a moment, then her attention fell back to her paper. Spot wondered for a moment if she didn't care…

Suddenly her head whipped up in his direction, and the pen she held snapped in half under her sudden clenching hand. She began to run for Spot, but he was already swooping her up in his arms, swinging her around in circles, much to the confusion of all bystanders near to them. Her smile was wide, and though Spot put her down straight away once he remembered her wound, she showed no outward inclinations of pain. He only saw happiness spread out on her face, with a joy no person could better.

"God—You've done a number on me, lady," Spot admitted. "I swear if we are ever split up again, I'll fall over dead. Don't ever leave me again, huh?"

The receptionist watched intently from behind the counter, seemingly waiting just as impatiently as Spot for a response from Cat. Cat simply stood there and beamed like the glowing woman she was. She let Spot have a nod of acknowledgement, but otherwise stared with a blissful expression. It made him melt all over, and yet tense, like he was ready to seize her then and there at any given excuse.

"Cat-- this is _honesty_ coming from me, so pay attention-- I _love_ you—God, I LOVE you. I want to kiss you not just on your face—but _every_where!"

Cat chuckled, her cheeks falling pink, but she didn't dare open her mouth.

"I don't want to miss any _inch_ of you that I haven't claimed as _mine_. I want to ravish you, over and over again, right here on this floor, for the rest of my life."

He looked around the floor as if scouting out a place.

"At least it will be clean," he added. "Let's get started, huh?"

The receptionist gasped.

"_Spot--_!" Cat began, protesting as the mannered lady she was, but Spot's hands had already palmed her cheeks, and his mouth had already found hers. There was no hesitation in his kiss, no patience of a skilled practitioner, none of how she would expect of him. There was only a greedy, velvet tongue and wet, longing lips. It was the kiss of a man who had imagined it in his head a thousand times, and now hungrily soaked it up for all it was worth.

Her own hands slipped around his back and pulled him closer to her, so that his body met hers, and she could feel his speeding heart through his chest.

"Sir… ma'am…" the receptionist protested, though her voice was unsure. "I'm afraid… I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to desist… You can't do that here… _please_…"

Spot broke off from Cat only long enough to shoot two words to the black-haired, middle-aged, glasses-wearing receptionist, before he resumed his long-awaited kiss.

"Shut up."

-

**You may review. Then move on, to the next chapter… **

**Signed,  
--RedRogue**


	30. Epilogue

Spot reclaimed Brooklyn as leader for one year following Griffin's death, and as such held off on marrying Cat until his life and finances were stable, and the wars on the streets were over, acting as a duel-leader beside his old friend Red.

Soon Catherine became with child, a son, whom Spot named John, after the late Mr. John Barrenger, and because of the child Spot handed over Brooklyn for good.

When World War I started, Spot let his old name die, reclaiming the birth name of Patrick, and then took his family and disappeared to start a whole new life. Only the leader of Manhattan, Jack Kelly, ever truly knew where Patrick had gone, but never spoke of it to anyone, and no rumor ever came close.

The newsie name of 'Spot' that Patrick left behind lived on in Brooklyn, and for many a year that name would always be referred to as the best leader Brooklyn had ever known.

Respect is not something that comes lightly. You have to earn it.

Love is not something that comes everyday. You have to let it grow.

This story involved a woman… and in so, it can come to a close.

It takes many things to make up a man, like hats and canes and slingshots… but only one thing to complete him.

Spot found his.

**-**

_THE END_ **

* * *

**

**That's it, folks! Thanks to all the wonderful reviewers who helped make this story possible—namely SakiSaki, Zip1899, Reffy, Conlonsgirl, and all those that were either with me from the very beginning, or faithfully and/or honestly reviewed until this very chapter—the very end. My love to you all. _Be sure to keep a look out for my next Spot story, coming very soon.  
_Farewell.  
Signed,  
--RedRogue**


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